


The Thing That Should Not Be

by VivatRex



Series: Master of Puppets [1]
Category: NCIS, Supernatural
Genre: Angels are Dicks, Angst, Autopsies, Boy Melodrama, Crossover, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Crowley Being an Asshole, Demonic Possession, Gen, Not Really Character Death, Resurrection, Saving the World, Team Free Will, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 69,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivatRex/pseuds/VivatRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an ancient demon is raised from the depths of Hell, it's up to Team Free Will to stop it from bringing on the end of the world. However, when the NCIS team gets caught up in their hunt, things get complicated. Falling in with the Winchesters and their angel means that none of their lives will ever be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: What I've Done

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline Note: For SPN, this takes place in season five between "Sam, Interrupted" and "Swap Meat". For NCIS, this takes place in season seven between "Ignition" and "Flesh and Blood".

In the lonely remnants of a chapel on the rocky shores of a beach in Virginia, a man sat in a dilapidated confession booth. No priest was on the other side. He was utterly alone. Waves crashed mercilessly against the shore as a thick blanket of storm clouds began to form in the sky, the threat of rain imminent. The man was speaking, but only to himself and God. Whether he was being heard or not was another matter entirely.

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Junior of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and today, I killed my best friend," he whispered, bowing his head and clasping his hands together. "It was the only thing I could do. It was either I let him kill all of us... or he had to die. I reacted like I was trained to. I weighed the options and... and I chose the most favorable one." He managed a shaky breath. "I don't know if this is something that can be forgiven. I know I won't forgive myself. If I had done what I was supposed to do, if I’d just _protected_ them, he would still be alive, and Gibbs wouldn't be chained in the middle of a pentagram right now."

He withdrew the syringe from his pocket. "I won't sugarcoat it. I've done a lot of terrible things. I... I ask for forgiveness for all of the lives that I've ended, for all of the lives I wasn't able to save. But most of all, I pray for forgiveness for what I did today, and what I'm about to do." He plunged the tip of the needle into the central vein of his right arm, wincing in pain. "If You're up there, and You care... please don't make me kill another person I love today."


	2. Miseria Cantare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics to The Thing That Should Not Be belong to Metallica.

_Thirty-six hours earlier..._

The day it all started on was a slow one, by NCIS standards. A normal morning at the office... of course, that was always how it started, wasn't it?

Tony was relaxed, his feet up on his desk and his hands behind his head, drifting in and out of sleep. McGee appeared to actually be doing work on the surface, but Tony knew he was really playing Solitaire. Ziva's nose was in a book, and she was humming something Tony didn't recognize.

Gibbs was on a coffee run, and so far today they hadn't had any pressing cases to deal with. Gibbs would most likely come back and put them on a cold case to work on for the rest of the day. Hell, maybe he'd even let the three of them head home early today, though Tony knew that was wishful thinking.

As if summoned by Tony's thoughts, Gibbs strolled into the bullpen, cup of black-as-night coffee held in his hand. He tossed the keys to the MCRT van to Tony as he made his way to his desk, sliding the drawer open and removing his SIG and badge from it.

"Grab your gear," Gibbs barked. "We've got a dead Marine in Georgetown."

Tony harrumphed as he delved into his desk and grabbed his weapon and ID. So much for an uneventful day. Oh well. He needed to stretch his legs, and it had been proven before that a bored Tony tended to annoy the living daylights out of those around him. Ziva and McGee copied him, grabbing their own weapons before heading towards the elevator.

In due time, Gibbs and Ziva were in the cruiser, driving towards the scene, which was located in one of the more upscale apartments in downtown Georgetown. Tony and McGee were trailing close behind in the MCRT van. McGee yawned, trying to muffle it with a hand. Tony glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Late night?" he asked innocently. McGee leveled an exasperated glare at him, a look he was used to receiving from the younger agent. He merely smiled in response. "Good for you, McSlyDog. Thought you'd be a little cheerier after a night down in the dungeon with your Elf Lady."

"There is no Elf Lady, Tony," McGee replied with a roll of his eyes. "For your information, Jethro got sick last night. My apartment was covered in dog vomit when I got home, and I had to clean it up and take him to the vet."

"Tough break. You should've trained man's best friend to puke in the toilet," Tony commented idly as he followed the cruiser off the highway and onto the street that led to the apartment building where the dead Marine was waiting for them.

"Thanks for your sympathy," McGee responded, voice thick with sarcasm. Tony snorted, pulling up behind the cruiser. Gibbs exited the car, Ziva close behind, and Tony and McGee tailed them up the walkway that led to the apartment. They ducked under the crime scene tape, and Gibbs dispatched Ziva to speak with the local LEOs who’d found the body.

The apartment was on the second floor, and Tony, Gibbs, and McGee made their way there. Gibbs pushed the front door open, and Tony's eyes widened at what he saw. "Holy crap," was all he could think to say.

There was blood _everywhere_. On the walls, on the furniture, on the carpet, splattered on the windows. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it wasn't just blood... he saw fragments of what must have been a human being as well. He felt his stomach do an unpleasant flip, and he saw McGee pale visibly next to him. He’d seen a lot of gruesome stuff in his career as a cop and as a federal agent, but this... this was on a different level.

"Boss, how exactly did the cops who were called to the scene tell that this guy was a Marine?" he asked, glancing around. "Or more importantly, how did they tell that he was a guy, period?"

"Apartment belongs to a Lance Corporal Avery Belisarius. We still need to ID it as him," Gibbs explained.

Among the mess of blood and gore, Tony saw what appeared to be a mostly intact torso. "Oh. Well, that should be easy."

"What could've done this to him?" McGee asked, horrified.

"That's what we're here to find out. McGee, bag and tag. DiNozzo, photos." Both obeyed, quickly busying themselves with their various tasks. "McGee, get any evidence that wasn't part of the victim. Let Duck and Palmer handle the bits and pieces." McGee nodded before departing into the kitchen.

"It's as if you summoned me, Jethro," a familiar accented voice rang through the apartment as Ducky and Palmer arrived, navigating their way into the room, gurney in tow. The older gentleman took in the room, and even the ME, who was legendary for being disgusted by literally nothing, seemed a little put off by the scene. "Oh dear."

"Don't know if you'll need the gurney, Duck," Gibbs said, gesturing towards the torso. "Not much left of him."

"No, I suppose we won't. Mr. Palmer, return to the autopsy van and get as many evidence bags as you can. It appears we have quite a bit of work ahead of us," he said, pulling on his white latex gloves and making his way towards the body - if you could call it that.

"Yes, doctor," Palmer said before departing the apartment. Ducky bent down next to the body, removing his liver probe from his pocket, before inserting the probe into the corpse. "I have to admit, it is lucky that he even has a liver left to probe. He's been partially disemboweled.”

"TOD?" Gibbs asked as Tony snapped image after image of the macabre scene, from the blood-soaked curtains to the piles of human remains splattered on the couch.

Days like this, Tony really hated his job.

"I'd hazard to say roughly twelve hours ago, midnight of last night," Ducky replied. "I have to admit, even I have never seen anything of this magnitude before. It appears almost as if the man exploded, judging from the range and amount of remains," he said, thinking aloud.

"He's been ripped to shreds," Gibbs said, making his way around the apartment, practiced eyes searching for anything out of the ordinary. He paused at one of the walls, pointing at it. "These look like claw marks to you, Duck?" he asked. Tony turned around, leaning over Gibbs' shoulder to snap a picture of what did indeed seem to be claw furrows on the wall.

"They do," Ducky agreed, peering at them. "What exactly are we dealing with here, Jethro?"

"Lions? Tigers? Bears?" Tony proposed, shooting the claw marks from another angle. "This is so _Teen Wolf._ " He let out a squeak as Gibbs landed a slap on the back of his head. "Going back to work now, boss."

For the next hour, he alternated between taking photographs, sketching, and measuring the crime scene as McGee, Gibbs, Palmer and Ducky milled about the apartment. Ziva had gotten the easiest job, speaking with local LEOs and interviewing the neighbors. The cops were called in after one of the neighbors heard growling and high-pitched screams coming from her neighbor's home.

_Growling, claw marks,_ Tony mused as they were finishing up. _What's next?_

"We're done here," Gibbs said finally, adjusting his NCIS cap. "DiNozzo, McGee, come on," he said, nodding towards the door. Tony glanced back at McGee, who’d just come out of the Lance Corporal's bedroom. Tony narrowed his eyes at the young man. He was just as pale as when they came in, and he was rubbing the side of his neck. He seemed confused, almost.

"You okay, McSqueemish?" Tony asked, careful not to show too much concern as he gathered up the gear they had hauled into the apartment. McGee walked a short distance behind Tony and Gibbs, eyes downcast.

"I'm fine," he said, voice shaking slightly and contradicting his statement.

"Shouldn't be, after that," Gibbs commented, jerking his head back towards the apartment door.

McGee merely shrugged in response. Tony continued to keep an eye on the younger agent as they made their way back to NCIS.

Tony and McGee arrived back at the Navy Yard before Gibbs and Ziva. Once in the bullpen and at their desks, McGee settled down in front of his computer. He typed much slower than usual, his hand scratching at his neck every few minutes. Tony decided for the moment to brush it off, but he had been taught never to doubt his gut. When he had the chance, he would corner McGee and ask him point blank what was going on with him.

For the time being, however, they had more pressing issues. Tony and McGee expected Gibbs and Ziva to arrive at NCIS shortly after the two of them, but by the time a half an hour had gone by, they had still seen no sign of the rest of the team.

"Must have gotten caught up in traffic **,** " Tony guessed, and he and McGee continued their work researching Lance Corporal Belisarius, but Tony had the distinct feeling that something was very wrong.

He picked up his phone, hitting Gibbs's speed dial number. Things were starting to get weird. He didn't like weird.

* * *

 " _Messenger of fear in sight, dark deception kills the light. Hybrid children watch the sea, pray for father roaming free,"_ Dean sang as they drove down the highway, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel. Sam groaned loudly.

"Dude, will you knock it off? If you're going to subject me to your music, at least don't sing along," Sam complained as he watched the traffic pass by their window as they pulled off onto a side street that led to the residential area of Georgetown.

" _Fearless wretch! Insanity! He watches, lurking beneath the sea,"_ Dean continued, completely ignoring Sam's protests. The younger Winchester brother face-palmed.

"You sing like a drunken sailor," he muttered. Dean laughed at his younger brother's irritation. Just as he was about to sing the next line, however, he noticed something in the rear-view mirror. It was a spotless, sleek black cruiser with tinted windows. _Definitely feds,_ Dean thought to himself. The car continued following them down the street, matching their speed just enough to trail shortly behind them.

"Bobby said the dead guy's Navy, right?" Dean questioned, glancing sideways at Sam.

"Marine Corps," his brother corrected. Dean let out a low chuckle. "What?" Sam asked.

"We're going to be getting to this guy at the same time as our buddies behind us," Dean said, pointing with his thumb at the vehicle behind them. "If this dude's a Marine, then that'll be NCIS."

"NCIS?" Sam repeated. "Navy cops?"

"Yep. The Naval Criminal Investigative Service," he elaborated. "Which means this is about to get real interesting."

* * *

Gibbs drove only a few miles over the speed limit, which was slower than usual for him, as they headed back to the Navy Yard.

"That scene was disturbing," Ziva commented as she watched the monotony of the city going by from the passenger seat window. "Even in my time with Mossad, I never saw something like that."

"We're dealing with one sick bastard," Gibbs said by way of agreement. He watched the road in front of him, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a familiar sight... a restored '67 Chevy Impala, painted black as night, heading the way they had just come from. "Ah, hell."

Without a second thought, Gibbs did a U-turn in the middle of the highway before pressing his foot to the accelerator to catch up with the sleek black vehicle.

"Gibbs!" Ziva said, clutching the safety handle that dangled above the window and looking at him as though he had gone insane. "What are you doing?"

He responded by weaving through several cars and pressing the gas pedal to the floor. Ziva did not seem pleased. "Just hold on," he said, hoping it would placate her until he discovered the destination that the vehicle was heading. After tailing the car for several blocks, Ziva's dark eyes scrutinized the traffic in front of them, and she seemed to catch onto which of the many cars on the highway they were following.

"The old car, the large black one?" she questioned, and he nodded. "Why?"

"I've seen it before, once," he said, his mind drifting back to the memories of John Winchester and his son Dean, the strange men he’d met when he was still working with Stan Burley and Vivian Blackadder, the men who’d interfered with their investigation, pissed him off to no end, and yet still managed to save their asses in the end.

The men who called themselves hunters.

"Do you think it could have something to do with Lance Corporal Belisarius?" Ziva asked as they pulled onto the side street, closing in on the Impala.

"What do I always say, Ziver?" he asked, eyes glued to the Kansas license plate on the Impala.

"Uh..." she trailed off. "Apologizing is a sign of weakness, never go anywhere without a knife, you don't believe in coincidences-"

"The last one," he told her, pulling onto the curb, mirroring the car in front of them.

For a few seconds, they didn't exit their vehicle, and the two people he could make out in the Impala did not step out of theirs. After a tense moment, two men exited the car. One was of gargantuan height with long hair, and Gibbs didn't recognize him. The other was more diminutive, with short, sandy brown hair, a chiseled jaw, and distinct green eyes. He identified him as a ten years older Dean Winchester. Judging by the similar facial features, Gibbs hazarded a guess that the other man was Dean's brother or cousin.

Gibbs stepped out of the cruiser, and Ziva followed suit, hand resting on the butt of her SIG. Dean and the other man approached their car, and Gibbs saw that apparently they had taken their father's habit of disguising themselves as feds, as they were clad in neatly pressed black suits. He would guarantee that they were equipped with very convincing fake IDs as well.

For a long moment, the four of them simply eyed each other. Dean's eyes were fixed on Gibbs for several seconds before his lips quirked up in a smile.

"Well, I'll be damned," Dean said. The tall man glanced at him, looking unsure.

"You know these two?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"Not her, but I know him. Dad and I worked a case with him when you were in your first year at Stanford," Dean said, nodding at Gibbs. "Been a long time, Gibbs," he greeted, extending his hand. Gibbs gave him his patented half-smirk.

"You're looking old, Dean," Gibbs commented before accepting Dean's hand and giving it a firm shake.

"I could say the same to you, if I wanted to get my ass kicked," Dean said.

"Who's your friend?" he asked, gesturing at the man next to him.

"This is my little brother Sammy," Dean answered, and the other man rolled his eyes at the childish nickname. "Yours?"

"Special Agent Ziva David," Gibbs responded. "What brings you two here?"

"Same thing as you, I'm guessing," Dean replied. "Murder."

"What agency are you with?" Ziva inquired, eyeing their suits. Sam glanced at Dean, and Gibbs guessed that he was silently asking, _"Does he know?"_

"We're not with an agency," Dean replied, looking away from his brother. "We're... freelance."

"You are PIs, yes?" she asked, tilting her head.

"In a manner of speaking." Sam shifted awkwardly. "Well, we're going to go in now, if that's okay."

"Not without us, you aren't," Gibbs said, taking a step towards Sam and Dean. "Same rules as last time, Winchester. I'll let you do your thing, but only if NCIS supervises."

"Gibbs, no offense, but I'm not sure NCIS wants their fingers in this cookie jar," Dean responded. "Our friend's got a buddy on the local PD, he says this scene's bad - like our kind of bad. I know the guy's Navy-"

"Marine," Gibbs corrected.

"-but you might want to step back on this one," Dean finished.

"We've already seen it," Gibbs said. "We were heading back to the Navy Yard when I saw the Impala. Whole place has been bagged and tagged, photographed and sketched. All that's left are the bloodstains."

"We'll check the place out anyway, there might have been something you guys missed," Sam said.

"We do not _miss_ things," Ziva defended.

"Well missy, I doubt you were looking for the same things we are," Dean said with a wink as he began heading up the sidewalk to the apartment complex, Sam trailing close behind. Ziva glared at their retreating backs. Gibbs held back a smirk as he put a hand on Ziva's shoulder and the two of them followed the brothers into the complex, up the stairs, and into Lance Corporal Belisarius's apartment, nodding at the Metro PD officers that were left to guard the crime scene.

"If it's this bad now, I wouldn't want to see what it looked like before you guys cleaned it up," Sam said, eyes widening at the multitude of dark stains in the living room. "So you'll work with us on this, then?"

"Depends on what our ME says," Gibbs responded, leaning against the wall as he watched the Winchester boys mill around the room. "If it seems like this is something in your area of expertise, I'll let you consult. Otherwise…" He left the boys' imagination to finish the sentence.

"Was there even anything left of this dude to autopsy?" Dean asked, ducking into a hall closet and peering inside. Sam made his way toward the kitchen.

"His torso was somewhat intact," Ziva informed them.

"Somewhat being the key word, I'm guessing," Sam called from the kitchen.

"Who tipped you two off about this?" Gibbs asked.

"Like I said, our friend has a buddy in Metro PD, knew about our... specialty. Gave us a heads up," Dean explained vaguely.

"What exactly _is_ your specialty?" Ziva asked, somewhat snappishly. "I am tired of being out of the line."

"Out of the loop," Gibbs corrected, since Tony was absent and could not do so. "You wouldn't believe 'em if they told you, Ziva." Ziva raised an eyebrow at him.

"Try me."

"Demons," Sam called as he made his way to the Lance Corporal's bedroom. "Ghosts. Vampires. Ghouls. Werewolves."

"Basically every scary thing that's supposed to stay under the bed," Dean added. "Everything you're taught by mommy and daddy not to believe in," he continued. Gibbs assumed that Ziva would laugh, or immediately write the brothers off as lunatics, but she seemed completely nonplussed by what they had said.

"Perhaps it is that way in America, but not in Israel," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Mossad has an entire team dedicated to dealing with supernatural threats. Most of the Middle East is perfectly aware of the fact that what the West writes off as fantasy is actually real."

Sam exited the bedroom, glancing sideways at his brother. "We're generally used to a lot more resistance than that."

"Refreshing, isn't it?" Dean asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, sniffing the air. "Sammy, you smell that?"

Sam sniffed as well. "Sulfur." The lights of the apartment began to flicker.

"Uh-oh."


	3. Strength Through Wounding

"What the hell is going on?" Gibbs asked as the lights flickered overhead. Dean pulled out a sawed off shotgun seemingly out of nowhere, and Sam withdrew a dagger from a sheath on his side. Strange runes were imprinted along the knife's blade.

"Gibbs, Ziva, get down!" Sam said, whirring around in a circle. There was a shadow, he could see it now. It was flying around the room.

Gibbs, remembering the last time a Winchester had told him to get down, quickly tackled Ziva to the floor. He scrambled to cover her with his body. He ducked his head down, flinching as a series of violent crashes resounded around the room. Gibbs lifted his head to see Dean being thrown into the wall, his head cracking against it. The older Winchester slid to the floor with a groan, dropping his weapon with a clatter.

The shadow had taken a solid form now. It looked like a mixture of a wolf and a bear cub, and it stood on its hind legs, arms raised and five inch claws extended. Its eyes were black as night. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a man who was afraid of much of anything, not really, but as he watched the monster launch itself forward and rake its claws across Sam's chest, causing the young man to sink to his knees with a howl of pain, he felt a thrill of terror.

The monster lunged at his neck, sinking its teeth into the side, and Sam's howl increased in volume.

"Sam!" Dean yelled as he struggled off of the floor, disoriented.

"Gibbs, what is going on!?" Ziva exclaimed from underneath him. The beast growled, and Gibbs pinned her to the floor harder, trying to cover every inch of her with his own body. Thank God she was relatively small.

"Just stay down, Ziver," he told her as the monster finished with Sam, bounding away from him and jumping on Dean's back, its teeth going to the same portion of his neck that he had just bitten on Sam's. Sam was struggling up now, clutching his bleeding neck, reaching into his pocket and removing a flask.

The beast unclamped its jaws from Dean's throat, and the young man fell forward face first into the floor. Sam tried to waylay the monster as it barreled towards where Gibbs and Ziva were prone on the floor, but the monster launched out a leg, hitting Sam square in the stomach and knocking him backwards.

The next second, Gibbs felt a heavy weight on his back, sharp claws digging into his shoulder blades. He groaned, feeling the beast's fetid breath on his ear before it latched its fangs onto his neck, needle sharp. He felt the monster sucking on him for a few seconds that might as well have been a lifetime before he heard it emit a high pitched squeal. A moment later, he felt the weight lifted off of him and the feel of water splashing on his back.

"You get it?" he heard Dean ask in a trembling voice.

"For now, but I definitely don't think its gone for good," Sam said. Gibbs felt a hand on his shoulder. "You can get up now."

Gibbs rolled off of Ziva, hand clutching at his neck, breathing harshly. Pain coursed underneath his skin, spreading, and he was almost positive that the wound had been poisoned. He blinked several times, looking up at the Winchesters. Dean and Sam, both cut up and nursing their own wounds, were kneeling over him. He saw Ziva's face enter his field of vision as well.

"Gibbs, are you alright?" she asked, voice panicked.

"Thanks for the concern for us," Dean grumbled dryly. Gibbs coughed slightly, forcing himself into a sitting position, the wounds on his shoulder throbbing as he did so.

"I'm fine," he said, checking her up and down to make sure she wasn't injured before turning to the brothers. "You care to tell me what in God's name that was?"

"Aside from 'scary as hell' and 'bad'? No," Dean replied. "I've never seen anything like that before..." He winced. "Sulfur means demon, but I ain't ever seen a demon that could take physical form without a host."

"Acheri demons," Sam said. "They're the only type that can take a physical shape on their own. But that wasn't a little girl, that's for sure. This is something new."

"Yeah, well, _new_ isn't good news," Dean replied with a sour expression.

Gibbs massaged the side of his neck, feeling blood well up under his fingers. "What did you do to get rid of the thing?"

"I threw holy water on it," Sam explained. "It damages a demon's essence, puts them in a lot of pain. It lost its solid form when I hit it with the holy water, went back to being smoke... I don't think it will hold it off for long, though."

"Guess we need to stock up on the Jesus Juice," Dean said.

"Where do we go from here?" Gibbs asked, rising shakily to his feet. The Winchesters and Ziva did the same.

"Depends," Dean replied. "You letting us work the case with you, now?"

"What do you think?" Gibbs asked rhetorically. "Come on. We're going to the Navy Yard. We’ll have our ME check you two out, show you the body, crime scene photos."

"Uh, Gibbs, I'm not sure we're on the same page here, but medical examiners are for dead people. We're a little beat up, but we're still breathing," Dean said.

"Just because he works on the dead does not mean he does not know his way around the living," Ziva said, still eyeing Gibbs worriedly. "You should have yourself checked out as well, Gibbs. You are bleeding badly."

He grunted in response before nodding towards the door. “Let's get out of here before we get a repeat performance."

* * *

"That's the eighth time I've called. Still no answer from Gibbs or Ziva," Tony said, pacing the bullpen like a madman. McGee looked on worriedly from his desk. "Rule #3: Never be unreachable. You know things are bad when Gibbs starts breaking his own rules." He tossed his phone onto the surface of his desk, turning to McGee. "Trace his cell. If you can't get a lock on his location, try Ziva's."

"Got it," he said as he nodded with pursed lips, tapping away on his computer. He halted for a second, wincing hard and putting his hand to his neck again. Tony let out an irritated sigh.

"McGee, will you tell me what's going on with your neck? Elf Lady got too frisky last night? You've been fidgeting worse than usual," he said. McGee didn't look at him, eyes glued to the computer screen.

"I told you Tony, there is no Elf Lady. I must have just nicked my neck at the scene or something. It's bugging me, but it's nothing I can't deal with," he said. "No lock on Gibbs's GPS signal, but it pinged a tower about twenty minutes ago."

"Where?" Tony asked immediately.

"Downtown Georgetown," McGee said, furrowing his brow. "That can't be right. I remember seeing them following behind us at least half of the way here."

"They must have turned around and headed back to the scene," Tony theorized. "Try Ziva's."

A few moments passed by, and McGee shook his head when he got the result. "Same as Gibbs. Phone's either damaged or off."

"Damaged," a voice said from behind him. Tony jumped, turning to see Gibbs strolling into the bullpen, flanked by Ziva and two men he didn't recognize. He noticed that the shoulder of Gibbs's shirt was stained dark with blood. The taller of the two men with him had slash marks across his chest, blood seeping out of his neck, and the shorter had similar neck wounds. To his relief, Ziva did not seem to be injured.

"Boss, what the hell happened to you?" Tony asked, words laced with concern. "Who are these two? Suspects?"

The shorter one snorted, and the taller one shook his head. "We're... consultants."

"Consultants?" McGee echoed.

"We're heading to autopsy, we'll explain everything down there. Get Abby and meet us there," Gibbs said, passing through the bullpen. Ziva and the two men trailed behind him.

"And so the plot thickens," Tony muttered, watching after them.

* * *

Tony strode into autopsy, flanked on either side by Abby and McGee. Once inside the cool basement, he saw that Gibbs and the two mystery men were seated on one of the cold steel tables in a straight line. The taller one was shirtless, and Tony noticed a strange tattoo on his chest. It appeared to be a flaming pentagram.

_Well, that's not creepy at all._

Ducky was busy examining Gibbs's neck. "Jethro, these bite marks are needle sharp, very narrow. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"I'd be surprised if you had." the shorter of the two men rasped as he held an icepack to his neck.

"Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed, rushing to the older agent and wrapping her arms around him. Ducky stepped away just in time to avoid being barreled over. Gibbs reciprocated the hug, kissing Abby lightly on the cheek.

"I'm fine, Abs," he assured her. He held her for a moment before pulling back. "I'll be even more fine if you let Duck fix me up."

"Oh, sorry!" she apologized quickly, stepping back and letting Ducky resume the bandaging of the older agent's neck. Abby's eyes turned to the other two men, the taller of which seemed very interested in her outfit. Tony resisted the urge to deck him for his wandering eyes. "Wait a minute... Dean?" she asked, directing her comment towards the shorter of the two.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her before his face broke into a smile. "Abby," he said with sudden realization. She quickly threw her arms around him, and he returned the hug. "Good to see you again."

"Definitely!" she said, pulling away. "It's been like, what, ten years?"

"About," he responded before motioning to the man next to him. "Abby, this is my brother Sam."

"Hey," Sam greeted.

"Nice to meet you," she said cheerily. "I'd give you a hug too, but I know some people have personal space issues, so I try not to hug random strangers anymore."

"No problem."

"You know these guys?" McGee asked suspiciously, eyes darting between the two brothers.

"I know Dean. He and his dad worked a case with the team a little bit before Gibbs hired Tony," she explained before turning back to Sam. "Oh, and this is Tony DiNozzo and Tim McGee," she said, gesturing back towards the two of them. Sam and Dean acknowledged them with identical nods.

"Okay, can we skip the meet and greet and fast forward to the part where you tell us where you disappeared to and why the three of you look like you stepped out of _Freddy vs. Jason?_ " Tony inquired. "Bite marks? You look like you got clawed across the chest." He motioned to Sam.

"It was a demon," Ziva answered bluntly. McGee's eyes widened, and Tony snorted derisively. "It attacked the four of us, bit Gibbs, Dean, and Sam's necks. Dean and Sam are hunters, men who track down supernatural entities and dispose of them. Gibbs recognized their car as it was going back to the scene, having worked a case with Dean and his father before, so we turned around and followed them. They heard through the rapevine that there was a strange murder there. Once the four of us were inside, we were attacked by a monster that they identified as a demon."

"Did she mean grapevine?" Dean asked. "I'm really hoping she meant grapevine."

"Yes, whatever," she said, waving him off. "Right now, that is all there is to tell. Our Lance Corporal," she motioned to the disembodied torso on one of the other autopsy tables. "Was apparently killed by this demon."

"Definitely," Sam agreed.

Tony stared at the group as Ducky moved onto bandaging Dean's neck, who frowned when antiseptic was poured on the wound. "Hold on, let me go check my calendar. I thought April Fools was a few months away."

"No joke, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, shifting off of the autopsy table and onto his own two feet again. Okay, that threw him for a loop. Gibbs would never go along with an insane prank like this. _I mean, this is something I would do, not Gibbs and Ziva._

"Come on, seriously, where's Ashton Kutcher?" he asked, swinging his head around in a mocking fashion. "I'm being Punk'd, right?"

"T-Tony," McGee stammered out from behind him. Tony turned around to see the horrified expression on his friend's face. "I don't think they're joking." He gulped as he pulled back the collar of his shirt, revealing two small, bloody holes parallel to each other. Tony's head jerked to the side, analyzing Sam's wound, which had yet to be bandaged since Ducky was taking care of his chest. It was identical to McGee's.

"When did you get that?" Dean asked, mimicking Gibbs and jumping off of the table. He manhandled McGee's head so his neck was completely visible. "They're exactly the same as ours, same place, too."

"When we were at the crime scene," McGee said, flinching at Dean's touch. "I went into Lance Corporal Belisarius's room, and everything smelled like... like the smoke from fireworks, kind of. The lights flickered, and I felt like there was something behind me. The next thing I knew, teeth were sinking into my neck. It happened so quickly that I just figured I was just being paranoid, that the scene was getting to me. My neck's been itching like crazy, and when I looked in the mirror in the van, I had these two pinpricks on my neck."

Tony's eyes bounced between the two of them, and he shook his head in disbelief. "This is completely insane."

"They're telling the truth, Tony," Abby piped up from where she stood next to Gibbs. "If you look in the right places, you find out that demons aren't so far-fetched." She held up one of her hands, where a ring with a pentagram inscribed on it surrounded her middle finger. "Why do you think I wear this? Keeps me safe from possession."

"It wasn't until the second half of the nineteenth century that such a stigma of disbelief came upon witchcraft and exorcism," Ducky shared, not seeming caught off-guard by the transpiring events. "There is a reason that the Catholic church still has licensed exorcists. Demons are not fiction."

"Okay, fine, fine," Tony said, holding up his hands. "For now, let's say that you haven't all gone insane. Question is, what now?"

"Well, it got your friend here, too," Dean surmised. "Why would a demon that powerful just give us all little love bites? Judging by what he did to Corporal Murdered-and-Maimed over there, it could have turned us all into meat stew."

"It must want something else," Sam guessed as Ducky finished bandaging the wound on his neck. “Any ideas?” He looked at his brother.

"Hell if I know," Dean replied. "I'm going to through Dad's journal, ask Bobby about it, try to find someone who's dealt with something like this before."

"Where is your old man?" Gibbs asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at the young man.

"He died," Sam said quietly, staring down at his hands. "Few years back."

This gave Gibbs pause. "Sorry to hear that. Was a crotchety old bastard, but he was a good guy. Good at what he did."

"Yeah," Dean said in a monotone. "He was."

"Timothy, come here. Your neck should be treated as well. We wouldn't want you to contract an infection," Ducky said, beckoning for McGee to come sit on the autopsy table. McGee ducked his head, obeying the medical examiner and coming to take the empty space that Gibbs had previously occupied.

"So, can we set up shop here, Gibbs?" Dean asked, leaving what apparently was the touchy subject of his father behind.

"Whoa, hold up," Tony said. "Do you two have any investigative experience, or are you just going to toss salt on all of us and hope for the best? No offense, but guns generally work a little better than crosses and hoping real hard-"

A second later, he found a sawed-off shotgun being pointed in his face. He took a step back, hand resting on his SIG, unsure of whether he should remove it from its holster or not.

"We have guns," Dean said simply. A second later, Tony's vision was cleared of the barrel of the shotgun, and he saw Gibbs slam Dean against the wall, lifting him several inches off of the ground with only one hand. Odd. Gibbs was strong, but not _that_ strong.

"You point a gun at one of my agents again," Gibbs said quietly. "And you're going to have three pointing back at you."

Dean struggled slightly. "Damn, you're strong," he commented. "Alright, alright. Will you put me down, now?"

"Mr. Winchester," Ducky said, directing his question at Sam. "Is there a possibility that the four of you were injected with some kind of slow-acting poison when you were accosted?" he inquired as Gibbs released Dean. "The capillaries around your wounds have turned an unpleasant kind of crimson-black color."

"It's definitely a possibility," Sam replied. "We'll look into it. Now, about that setting up shop thing...?" he questioned, glancing worriedly between Dean and Gibbs. Dean was massaging his collar where Gibbs had grabbed him.

"Free conference room on the top floor, next to the director's office," Gibbs provided. "Whatever you need, bring it there. You have any problems, come to us."

Both brothers nodded. "Good," Dean said. "Come on, Sam, let's go find out what the hell we're dealing with here."

Before Sam could respond, there was the feel of a cool autumn breeze and a slight _woosh_ in the room, like ruffling feathers. Tony spun around. Behind him was a man clad in a trench coat that hung down to his knees, along with a white dress shirt and askew blue tie. He had eyes that were almost inhumanly blue, and a swath of messy black hair.

"I may be able to assist you with that."


	4. Tortures of the Damned

"Cas," Dean greeted the newcomer. "Nice of you to drop in on us."

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, brow furrowing. Tony just stared at the man who had materialized behind him.

"And who is this? Is he a ghost, or something?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Mr. Trenchcoat.

"I am Castiel," the man replied.

"Cool name," Abby commented, bouncing on her heels.

"Castiel here is a friend of ours," Dean explained.

"He human?" Gibbs asked, eyeing Castiel with undisguised suspicion.

"No," Castiel responded. "I am an angel."

"Angels!" Tony exclaimed with a laugh. "Awesome! Can't have demons without angels too, right?" He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "God, it's like I'm living in a Dan Brown novel."

"I've come to give you a message," Castiel said, looking around the room at large. "Not just to Dean and Sam, but those of you that have been bitten as well. There is a great evil rising in in the world, one that hasn't been seen in thousands of years. If it's not stopped, terrible things will come to pass."

"Um, Cas, I don't know if you've noticed this, but terrible stuff is already coming to pass," Sam pointed out with a frown.

"This is a threat that is almost enough to match Michael and Lucifer's impending battle," Cas replied.

Tony blinked at the name. "Lucifer. That's definitely not a good sign," he muttered.

"In the event that we're unable to stop the two of them, there is still some vague hope for the human race, granting that Michael is victorious. This, however, could have the potential to destroy everything. The demon you're dealing with is beyond anything you've ever encountered before. It can circumvent charms and warding, is barely harmed by typical anti-demon weapons, and has the unusual capability to take solid form without possessing a human. It is nearly invincible."

"What's this thing called?" Sam asked.

"The Orochi demon, Yamata-no-Orochi," Castiel responded.

"I'm familiar with the legend," Ducky shared as he finished wrapping a bandage around McGee's neck. "The Orochi demon is a staple of Shinto and ancestral Japanese mythology."

"Correct, except it's not mythology," the angel said, moving forward to stand in front of the gathering in autopsy. "The last time the Orochi demon was summoned, it destroyed half of Japan before being banished back to Hell by the Shinto god Susano. It is a beast summoned by the use of twenty thousand sacrificed damned souls, taken straight from the depths of Hell. The lesser monster you encountered earlier is how it appears when not in its smoke form."

"Lesser?" Ziva echoed. "There did not seem to be anything _lesser_ about it."

"I'm sensing a 'wait, but it gets worse' coming on," Dean groaned. Castiel nodded in affirmation.

"Yes, it does," Cas said bluntly. "As I mentioned, what you've seen now is only Orochi's lesser form. To take on its true form at full power, it must consume the bodies and souls of eight humans. Once that's done, it can take on its greater form, which is nearly unstoppable."

"Dandy," Tony commented. "So Lance Corporal Belisarius was its first victim, or have there been more?"

"The first," Castiel responded. "However, the process that Orochi must go through to consume the eight souls and bodies is its greatest handicap."

"What does it have to do?" Sam asked.

"To begin, the Orochi demon must mark its next target by biting its neck. It takes in the blood of the victim so it can track them, and injects some of its own venom. The venom courses through the victim's body, strengthening it over the next twenty-four hour time period so it can survive being possessed by the demon. The four of you will notice increased strength, speed, and awareness for the rest of your lives."

"Like Superman," Tony said with a hint of a smile. "Guess that makes you Wonderboy, McGee." He received a dirty look from the agent in question.

"Once the preparation period has passed, Orochi can possess the person in question. It has to remain in the body for twenty four hours before it is able to consume the soul and flesh. At this point, it releases the body for a short period of time and takes its lesser form. It then proceeds to devour both the body and soul, rather violently."

"Yeah, we noticed that much," Gibbs said, eyes darting toward the Lance Corporal's disembodied torso.

"The selection of the human host is also… unconventional. The eight chosen souls have to be of mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical strength. Mainly because a weaker being couldn't handle the Orochi's presence in their body, but also because the stronger the souls that the demon feasts on, the more powerful its final form will become," Castiel explained in his usual monotone. Tony sighed, his head spinning.

In the span of roughly two hours, he’d gone from living in a world that actually made sense to living in a world where apparently there were demons, angels, and hunters running around, all in some crazy battle that he had somehow never noticed before. This was just too much.

"Wait a minute, if he's going for strong souls, why did he go for Probie first?" he asked, directing the question at the angel.

Castiel's face went blank. "What is a… Probie?"

"Long story," Abby said by way of explanation. "He means why did the demon get the jump on Timmy?" she asked, eyes darting worriedly to McGee, who was still rubbing at his neck.

"I'm strong," McGee defended, puffing out his chest slightly.

"I've met fluffy bunnies that are more intimidating than you are, McGoo," Tony said. "You're not exactly what demons are made of."

"Didn't you just start believing in this stuff like ten minutes ago?" Dean asked. "How would you know?"

"I've watched _The Exorcist,_ " Tony argued weakly.

"Well, this ain’t a movie, genius," Dean pointed out. Gibbs rolled his eyes irritably, head-slapping both of them hard. "Hey, what the hell, Gibbs?"

"Don't worry," Abby assured him. "It's a sign of affection."

"As I was saying," Castiel said rather loudly, dragging the group back on topic. "You, Timmy-" McGee cringed at Castiel's deadpan use of Abby's nickname for him. "-have an inner strength that was detected by the demon, hence why he marked you. He must have marked you for the same reason." He nodded towards Gibbs. "And his motive for attacking Sam and Dean is obvious."

"Obvious?" Tony questioned. "What, are you two some kind of legendary badass demon hunting team?"

Dean and Sam smirked at each other, and Castiel nodded his head fervently. "Yes, exactly."

Tony glanced at the brothers. "Does he get sarcasm?" he questioned.

"Not really," they chorused.

"So, this demon... it'll come after the four of us? Once we're done being..." McGee gulped involuntarily. "Being prepped?"

"It will," Castiel replied. "You will likely be first, since you were the first it attacked. Then it will move onto Sam, Dean, and Gibbs."

"So, we've got to stop it before it comes to that," Sam surmised. "But how?"

"As I said, normal anti-demon weapons will not finish it off. Salt is almost useless against it, and even demon-proofing seals will only hold it off for so long. Originally, Orochi was only defeated once it reached its true form, so I'm not entirely positive on how to dispose of it its lesser form."

"And what exactly is its true form?" Ziva inquired.

"It depends on the caliber of the souls it harvests," Castiel answered. "3,000 years ago, it appeared as an enormous eight headed snake beast."

"Oh my," Ducky commented.

"This is just wonderful," Tony sank down into the office chair that sat in front of Ducky's desk. "Listen, I don't get how we're supposed to help with this, we deal with criminals... _humans_. Not monsters."

"We've dealt with monsters, DiNozzo," Gibbs said quietly. "A hell of a lot more than most people." The cold eyes of Ari Haswari flashed in his mind, and Tony felt that he couldn't argue with Gibbs's statement. Gibbs turned back to Castiel. "How do we kill it?"

"You cannot kill-"

"He means how do we get it gone, Cas," Dean interjected, slightly exasperated.

"Oh." The angel blinked. "Yes, well, I have a theory. Firstly, the only way to summon a beast such as Orochi is by a complicated summoning ritual done by an extremely powerful witch, along with the aid of someone who controls a large amount of condemned human souls."

"You think Lucifer's behind this?" Dean asked in a low voice, crossing his arms and taking a step closer to Castiel.

"Lucifer," McGee repeated in a shaky voice. "As in Satan?"

"Yes, Lucifer as in Satan. However, I can see no motivation for him to raise the Orochi demon when he himself is already so powerful. I also see no reason why he would send it after the two of you when Sam is his intended vessel," Castiel replied.

"So, who's doing this, then?" Dean asked. "I can't think of anyone else who has access to that much juice."

"I believe the souls were acquired without Lucifer's knowledge."

Dean bit the inside of his lip. "But who could swing something like that?"

"Someone who trades in souls," Sam said, a look of realization dawning on his face. "Crowley."

"I assume so, yes." Castiel nodded.

"Who's Crowley?" Tony questioned. "His parents must be some major Sabbath fans."

"He's the King of the Crossroads. He’s a demon. In other words, not our best buddy," Dean explained. "Especially after Carthage," he added, jaw twitching in restrained anger.

"King of the Crossroads?" Ducky echoed. "Would you mind elaborating, lad?"

Castiel answered instead of Dean. "Crossroads demons are entities that make formal agreements or bargains with humans, granting any wish in exchange for claiming their life and soul at a fixed point in the future. Deals made with humans are sealed with a kiss, and contracts are written invisibly on the skin of the person in question. When the person dies either before his or her time, or is killed by a hellhound at the end of the appointed period, his or her soul is sent to Hell. Terms of the demonic contracts vary, but the person selling his or her soul is usually given ten years to live after the deal is made. Crowley is the leader of these demons."

"I'm guessing we've got to waste the witch to get rid of Orochi?" Dean guessed, meeting Castiel's eyes. The angel nodded.

"Yes. Once you've hunted down and eliminated the witch that summoned the demon, you'll have to capture Orochi itself," he said.

"And how exactly are we going to go about doing that?" Sam asked. "You said normal anti-demon stuff doesn't have much effect on it."

"I am still working on that," Castiel admitted. "However, chains inscribed with sigils and demon traps should still imprison Orochi. If you can manage to bind him, then imprison him in a devil's trap, he'll be at least temporary apprehended. Once you've reached that phase, with luck I will know more in regards to permanently dismissing him. However, there is something you should know."

"And what's that?" Dean said, and he didn't sound like he was looking forward to the answer.

"The Orochi is one of the five entities that cannot be destroyed by the Colt," Castiel said. Dean and Sam's eyes widened.

"You're telling me this thing's on the same level as Lucifer?" Dean asked, voice cracking slightly.

"Essentially, yes," Cas replied. "That may be one of Crowley's motivations for summoning it. It could destroy Luficer's vessel-" he nodded towards Sam. "And then launch a counterstrike against him once its assumed its true form."

"So," Dean said. "All we have to do is murder a witch strong enough to summon a demon that could bring on the apocalypse even sooner than we thought, and then capture said apocalyptic demon before he can turn us all into lunch." He smiled blandly. "Great."

"You have faced daunting challenges before," Castiel said. "I will assist in any way that I can, but for now, I will be investigating who gathered the twenty-thousand souls and how we can go about sending Orochi back to Hell."

"I thought it was that Crowley guy who gathered up the souls?" Abby asked.

"I assume it is, but I'm not certain. I would also like to discover his motivation, and make sure that he is indeed trying to stop Lucifer, and not working for him," he answered.

"Motive? He's an asshole. There, the riddle's solved," Dean said, eliciting a snort from Gibbs.

Castiel ignored Dean's indignation in favor of turning away from the brothers and directing his next words at the NCIS agents, Abby, and Ducky. "Gibbs, Timmy, you have been marked. It would be wise to not sleep anywhere that is not demon-proofed, or to go anywhere without either Dean or Sam accompanying you. You are in grave danger. I will say this, it is not by chance that you've met Dean and Sam. This is fate, ordained by my Father." Dean narrowed his eyes at this. "If you stay close, hopefully we can all work together to prevent the apocalypse."

Castiel received very odd looks from Gibbs, Tony, and McGee. Abby and Ziva seemed plagued by a grave acceptance, and Ducky just seemed perfectly intrigued with the entire situation.

"This is a lot heavier than we're used to dealing with," Abby said, fiddling with her dog collar.

"This is life or death," Ziva added.

"The fate of the world is resting on our shoulders," McGee whispered, barely loud enough for the room at large to hear. Silence echoed in autopsy for a long moment right before anyone else spoke.

"So," Tony said, grinning mirthlessly at the room at large. "Shall we?" This earned smirks from his teammates and the Winchester brothers. Castiel bowed his head.

"I'll take my leave. If any of you have need of me, call my name and request my presence. If I am not already occupied, I will come to your aid." He let his hands drop to his side, and with another sound of rustling and the feel of a crisp breeze, the man who was apparently an angel disappeared.

"Shouldn't he have wings?" Tony questioned with a tilt of his head. "A halo or something? White toga? Harp?"

"He's got wings," Sam replied. "You just can't see them on this plane of existence, I guess.”

"Sometimes you can see the shadows of ‘em, though," Dean whistled appreciatively. "Pretty bad ass."

"What's the next step?" Gibbs asked, breaking his characteristic silence. The NCIS crew looked at him in surprise. Gibbs was always the one who knew what to do next. "I know this is your expertise, not mine," he said, looking to Dean and Sam for further guidance.

"We need to set up a safe house, first off. Demon-proof the crap out of it and hope for the best," Dean said. "Needs to be somewhere way out of the way. You got a place in mind?"

"I got a fishing cabin in the woods to the north of here," Gibbs offered up. "That good enough?"

"How many people can it hold?"

Blank stare. "One."

"Think we could hook up some cots, maybe? You and McGee are going to have to crash together, along with Sam and I until we get rid of Orochi," he said. Gibbs seemed less than pleased about this, but he didn't vocalize this feeling. Tony knew that his boss wasn't big on sleepovers, as was part of his loner nature.

"We'll pick up some cots," he agreed.

"What can we do?" Abby said anxiously, bouncing on her feet.

"You guys and Sam need to find the witch who summoned Orochi," Dean said, glancing sideways at his brother. "He knows what to do. Listen to him, and you'll be fine. McGee, Sam, no matter what, don't leave the building. Sam, demon-proof the place as best you can, but don't take too long. Ducky can keep working on Belisarius, see if he can find any more clues. If you guys need to go into the field, let Tony and Ziva do it."

"Isn't McGee supposed to be super strong now, from the poison?" Tony asked. "He can just throw a bus at the thing if anything comes at him."

"This is serious, Tony." McGee frowned.

"Relax, McGee, I'm just messing with you. Whatever we have to do to keep you and the boss safe, we'll do." His eyes widened slightly at the look he received from Gibbs. "Not that you need protecting, boss."

Gibbs smirked before looking at Dean. "Ready to go?" The young man nodded.

"Sam, hold down the fort **.** " Dean said, tapping his brother on the shoulder as he followed Gibbs out of autopsy.

Tony looked around the room, meeting Ducky, Ziva, Abby, McGee and Sam's eyes individually before clapping his hands together with false enthusiasm. "Let the demon-hunting fun begin!"


	5. But Home is Nowhere

Dean took in the small fishing cabin, which had no TV, no running water, and as Gibbs had mentioned, was definitely built for only one person. It was in the woods about fifteen miles out of DC, surrounded by an idyllic lake and thick evergreen forest. In the dictionary, under the word 'secluded', Dean was pretty sure this was pictured.

Gibbs was a little ahead of him on the path, searching through the keys on his key chain to find the one that opened the door to the one room cabin. The Impala was pulled up close to the house, two cots piled into the back. There was already one bed and a couch inside, so thankfully they only needed just the two.

"You don't like people too much, do you Gibbs?" Dean asked as he came to stand behind the NCIS agent. Gibbs half-smiled in response, but said nothing. "You come out here often?"

"When I need to think," he replied as the door swung open, revealing the wooden interior. It wasn't much - a narrow bed in the corner, a small fridge, table, and couch, and a large fireplace. If they pushed the couch against wall, there would be enough room for the two cots, but it would be a tight squeeze.

"Oven?" Dean questioned, gesturing to the lonely fridge.

"Just use the fireplace," Gibbs answered with a shrug, dropping his bag filled with three days worth of clothes on the bed. Dean dropped his own duffel on the couch. He'd let McGee and Sam have them when they arrived there later that night. "What exactly are you going to do to try and keep this Orochi thing out?" Gibbs inquired.

"I can spray paint demon protection sigils onto the door, spread salt lines in front of all the entrances, enough to at least slow the son of a bitch down if it shows up. Hopefully this place is far enough out you won't need to worry," he explained, removing the proper tools from his backpack and setting to work on the front door.

"Your angel friend said that there had to be twenty four hours before the demon could possess whoever it bit," Gibbs said. "So, until 1300 tomorrow, it won't come back. There any point in this?"

"Strong demon like that has probably made a few enemies. They hear that we've been marked, they might try and take us out so the Orochi can't harvest our souls. Not to mention, if Lucifer's caught wind of this thing, he'll send some of his lackeys our way, too. Thankfully, this stuff'll work a hell of a lot better against average demons," Dean told him as he continued spray painting the pentagram. "You're in the big leagues now, Gibbs. Everyone's out to kick your ass."

"I'm used to it," Gibbs said. Dean let out a short laugh. Old man hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen him.

"So, how've you been, Gibbs?" Dean asked. "New team seems... different."

"Different how?" the NCIS agent responded with a tilt of head.

"Looks like you've got an aging frat boy, the last one picked in gym class, and what I'm pretty damn sure is the chick I saw on the front of last month's Playboy. What happened to Blackadder and Burley?" he inquired.

"Reassigned," Gibbs explained. "McGee, DiNozzo, David, they're good at what they do. Best people for the job," he said, and by the sound of his voice, Dean knew that he meant it.

"You care about them a lot," Dean said, making it more of a statement than a question. "I saw the way you threw yourself on Ziva back at that Marine guy's apartment. Takes a lot of balls to open yourself up to being demon chow like that."

"Avery Belisarius," Gibbs corrected.

"What?"

"The 'Marine guy's' name," he elaborated. "It was Avery Belisarius."

"Right, sorry," Dean said as he finished off the protection on the door. "Not a bad way to get off the subject, either." He received no response from Gibbs as he sprinkled salt along the windowsill and doorways. "Still pretending you're a bastard?"

"Pretending?"

"Oh, come on Gibbs, I know how much you care about your team," he said. "It's a lot more obvious than you think it is."

"I'll make sure to slap DiNozzo more often," Gibbs said as Dean emptied his salt supply. "You done?"

"Yeah, but let's head back to the car for a second. I think we need to hook you up with an anti-demon weapon as long as Orochi's running around," Dean said, exiting the cabin with Gibbs following close behind.

Once back at the car, Dean threw open the trunk, and Gibbs's eyes widened at the arsenal inside. Shotguns, knives, handguns, rifles, gasoline, several gallons of holy water, talismans, anti-possession charms... Dean was proud of what he and Sam had amassed over the years. They could take on a small army if they wanted to, and hell, someday, they were probably gonna have to.

"Christmas comes early," Gibbs muttered.

* * *

"So," Abby said, spinning around on her lab stool. "How exactly do we track down a witch?"

"We could look under a few houses," Tony suggested from where he and McGee hovered protectively behind Abby. "Ruby slippers can't be too hard to find."

"That's easily the fifteenth movie reference I've heard you make since Dean and Gibbs left," Sam said, somewhat exasperated. "Is he always like this?" he asked, directing the question at Abby.

"He's actually going easy compared to normal," she said honestly. "Tony kind of turns everything up to eleven."

"Part of my charm," he replied with a smirk. "Back on task, Hagrid. How do we find the Wicked Witch of DC?"

Sam brushed past the nickname with a roll of his eyes. "A witch powerful enough to summon a demon like Orochi, there's going to be signs. Witches - the bad ones, anyway, a lot of the time they need people for spells, rituals, sacrifices. If they're sadistic enough, just to experiment on... or torture." McGee paled significantly at this, rubbing the bandage on his neck nervously. "They have to get their victims from somewhere. Strings of inexplicable disappearances are generally a good place to start. Nine times out of ten, they'll try to take someone that nobody is going to miss."

"Runaways, transients, prostitutes," Abby surmised, tapping away on her computer.

"Check the whole tri-state area," Tony said, receiving a questioning look from Sam. "Your angel friend never said anything about the witch being based out of DC."

"True," Sam conceded. "You guys got a spare computer I can use? If I can get in contact with my friend Bobby, he can let me know if he's heard about anything weird going on here."

"Can't you just use your phone?" McGee asked, confused. Sam retrieved his phone from his pocket and tossed it to McGee, who caught it in midair.

"It's fried," Sam explained as McGee tried fruitlessly to turn it on. "Something about the Orochi's aura screws with electronics, I guess. Dean, Gibbs and Ziva's cell phones are dead, too."

"You can use the computer in my office, Sam," Abby said, pointing towards the glass sliding door on the other side of her lab. He nodded his thanks and made his way there. Once the door had closed behind him, Tony huffed slightly.

"I'm still not buying this," he said, leaning on the lab table. "I mean, come on. None of this makes any sense."

"It makes sense, Tony," Abby said with a frown. "You're just not willing to suspend your disbelief and realize it."

"Tony's right, Abs," McGee pointed out, surprising Tony by agreeing with him for once. "It all seems just a little unbelievable."

"You're the one who had a demon jump on you and sample the McGee lunch special," she said. "You have all the proof in the world."

"There's... reasonable explanations for what happened..." McGee argued unconvincingly.

"Really angry cat?" Tony offered up as he leaned over Abby's shoulder to read the police report she had just pulled up.

"Explain Castiel randomly appearing in autopsy," Abby said. "He came out of nowhere."

"Uh, Gibbs does that on a daily basis and he's _definitely_ not an angel," Tony replied. "Listen, I'm not denying that something weird's going on... and this demon thing, okay, maybe it's real. Maybe even the angel thing, too. Maybe the whole paranormal spiel is a hundred percent authentic... but I still don't like that we're blindly trusting the Jolly Green Giant and some guy who looks like he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein underwear commercial."

"I told you earlier, Tony," Abby said. "Gibbs worked a case with Dean and his father about ten years ago. Hunting runs in their family. If it hadn't been for Dean, Gibbs and Stan probably would've been killed."

"How come Gibbs never mentioned this?" McGee asked, looking over Abby's other shoulder.

"Well gee, McGee, probably because no one would have believed him!" Abby exclaimed, exasperated. "I mean, he only told me because he knew that I already believed in the stuff."

"I had the crime scene photos developed," Ziva's voice jarred the three of them from their reading, and they turned to see the Israeli entering the lab, packet of photos in hand. She looked around the lab with some confusion. "Where is Sam?"

"My office," Abby provided. "He's trying to get a hold of one of his friends."

Ziva nodded before heading into the office in pursuit of Sam. The three of them turned back to the lab computer. "Any particular reason McVampire and I aren't doing this in the bullpen?" Tony asked.

"Vance," she and McGee said simultaneously.

"Ah," Tony said. Well, that made sense. From what he had seen in the past two years, Vance didn't trust Gibbs as far as he could throw him most of the time. They had that weird wink-wink-nudge-nudge-Bob's-your-uncle thing going on, but Tony had a feeling that repertoire wouldn't extend far enough for Gibbs to be able to convince Vance that the Lance Corporal had been consumed by some kind of evil demon.

"It looks like this could be promising," McGee said as the three of them finished reading the police report. "Over the past two years, twelve people have gone missing within a three block radius of a bar called Dominic's in Anacostia. All of them are the kind of people that no one would miss. Not to mention there's a homeless shelter just next door," he added.

"Promising," Abby agreed.

"How far apart are the disappearances?" Tony asked. McGee put his arms around Abby so he could type himself. A few moments later, he had their answer.

"The biggest gap between disappearances was three months between the first and second abductions," he answered. "Looks like she was getting a feel for it, if it really was a witch that did this."

"Hey," the three of them turned in unison to see Sam leaning out the door. "I've got my friend on the line, you guys are probably going to want to hear this."

The three of them followed Sam back into Abby's office, where Ziva was seated on the edge of the forensic scientist's desk, looking at the screen. Sam stood, allowing Abby to take a seat in front of the computer. Tony stood between Sam and Ziva, and McGee took up Sam's other side.

The man on the screen looked... well, he looked like a mildly inebriated redneck truck driver in a wheelchair. "You the feds?" he asked. Tony nodded.

"That's us," he replied.

"Bobby Singer," he introduced himself with a tip of his baseball cap.

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, this is Probationary Agent Ziva David, the pasty looking guy is Agent McGee, and the lovely lady sitting in front of you is Abby Sciuto," he rattled of their names.

"Nice to meet ya," Bobby said. "Sam says that you guys are looking for a witch. Damn powerful one, too."

"Did Sam fill you in on the Orochi demon that Castiel told all of us about?" Abby asked.

"Yup. Sounds like a pretty nasty son of a bitch. I've never come across anything like it before. Anyway, point is, I think I know who you need to be looking for. There's only a few witches floating around now these days that would be strong enough to catch Crowley's attention, assuming he's the one behind this, not to mention powerful enough to summon the thing."

"Who do you think it is, Bobby?" Sam asked.

"Her name's Irena Lund. No clue how old she is, can't hardly tell from recent pictures, but supposedly she's pushing into her hundreds. Origin's foggy, but from what I hear she emigrated to Canada from the former Soviet Union in the late 1940s. Few years back, she set her sights on the US. Word is, she's been on the East Coast. There've been a few sightings of her in NYC, Baltimore... and DC."

"Right in our backyard," Tony muttered. "Joy."

"I can't find much else on her, just that she's one dangerous bitch. May just be hearsay, but supposedly she leveled the entire village she grew up in at age twelve. In other words, when you run into her, watch your backs," he warned, casting a concerned look at Sam. "You and your brother need anything else?"

"I think we're okay for now," Sam said. "If we have any problems, either Dean or I will let you know. Before I sign off, do you know _anything_ about Orochi? Have you ever even heard of it?" he asked.

"Heard of it in the way you hear about Paul Bunyan carving the Grand Canyon with his axe," Bobby grumbled in reply. "Never actually thought the thing was real, which is sayin' something, considering."

"Hopefully we can get rid of it before it gets stronger," Sam said before pointing at his bandaged neck. "We're kind of personally invested, now."

"Ain't you always?" Bobby asked blandly. "Alright, remember, call me if you need anything. Give your fed buddies my number too, just in case."

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby." Sam ended the video call before looking back at the four of them. "Did you guys find anything?"

"A string of disappearances over in the seedier section of Anacostia might be this Irena chick," Abby said, leading the group of them back into her lab. "Most of the kidnappings have happened to people last reported within a three block radius of a bar called Dominic's, which is next door to a homeless shelter. Probably the witch's hunting ground."

"That sounds about right," Sam said. "Once Dean comes back, the four of us will go check it out."

"Why can Tony and I not just go ourselves?" Ziva asked, somewhat indignant.

"This is more dangerous than you think," Sam said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just saying. This is what Dean and I do, we know what we're talking about."

"It shouldn't be too long until Gibbs and your brother are back," McGee said. "Gibbs is kind of a speed equals efficiency kind of guy."

"My dad would appreciate that," Sam said softly. "Is Gibbs ex-Marine? He's got the look for it."

"There's no such thing as an ex-Marine," Tony said.

"Yeah, I thought as much. Alright, in the meantime, we need to do as much research on this Orochi thing as humanly possible. I know Cas has probably got the destroying part of it under control, but it wouldn't hurt to read up on this."

"Read up on what?" The five of them turned around at the same time as they heard the voice at the doorway to Abby's lab.

Vance was standing there, arms crossed, looking very displeased to see a complete stranger with no authorization and no visitor's badge in the forensics lab.

"Director! How nice to see you..."


	6. Search and Destroy

Gibbs fired off a test shot with one of the sawed-off shotguns that had been in the armory in the back of Dean's car, getting the feel for the gun with rock-salt rounds. "Recoil's not too bad. You make these, or you buy 'em?"

"Made these ones, but if you know the right people you can buy them, too," Dean explained as he gathered up several shotgun shells from the trunk before handing them to Gibbs. "Keep these with you at all times. Until we put this to bed, you need to have an anti-demon gun on you." Next, Dean handed him a flask. "This too. Holy water. On the Orochi demon, it'll give it a run for a little bit, on any other demon it'll burn like hell."

Gibbs nodded, pocketing the holy water. Dean reached into the trunk one last time and withdrew a necklace with a pentacle charm and tossed it to him. Gibbs looked at it with a dubious eye.

"Jewelry?" he questioned.

"It'll keep you from being possessed by another demon. By the sounds of what Cas told us, it won't do shit against Orochi, but at least it'll keep you from being turned into a meat-suit in the meantime," Dean explained as he made his way back to the driver's seat. "You sure you can conceal that shotgun? I don't want your boss asking us questions we can't answer."

Gibbs slipped the necklace over his neck and tucked it under his shirt, grabbed the holster for the shotgun and strapped it onto himself, then slid the weapon inside. He adjusted it so it was on the small of his back, tucked under both his coat and his collared shirt, one of the benefits of always wearing four layers of clothing. "No problem."

Gibbs got back into the Impala, and Dean started trundling down the dirt road that led away from the cabin and back into the city. They drove in silence. Dean had the radio turned on, and the music was decent enough that Gibbs didn't have a problem with it. The older Winchester must have remembered from their meeting ten years ago that he wasn't much of a talker, though Gibbs did have a few questions for the hunter.

"So, tell me about this apocalypse that's supposed to happen... 'Michael and Lucifer's impending battle'..." he quoted Castiel.

"It's a long story," Dean said, pursing his lips.

"Make it short."

"Basically, Sam is Lucifer's destined vessel, and I'm Michael's. Heaven and Hell duke it out, bring on the end of the world. Problem is, Sam and I have to agree to be their vessels, which we're sure as hell not going to do, but we've got demons and angels after us trying to, uh, _persuade_ us differently," Dean explained. "We're kind of in deep trouble as it is, Gibbs. This on top of it, well, it's the cherry on the crap sundae."

"Anyway you can stop it?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, well, we thought if we shot Lucifer with a specific Colt made by Samuel Colt himself that supposedly can kill damn near anything, we'd be good. Least that's what Crowley told us," Dean growled. "The Colt's useless against him. Me and Sam went out on a limb and assumed that Crowley lied to us."

"And he's the one who Castiel thinks summoned Orochi."

"Uh-huh. We're looking for other ways to stop the battle between Lucifer and Michael. Honestly, we're kind of running low on good plans." Dean sighed, and Gibbs noted that he suddenly looked aged beyond his years. "We'll figure something out. We always do. Sam, Cas and I - we can handle it."

After that, the ride was mostly uneventful, until Gibbs's eyes found their way to a dark blue sedan that he had noticed when they first reentered the city. It had followed them for the past three blocks, and it was staying a steady three car lengths behind them, trying hard to look like it _wasn't_ following them. Dead giveaway.

"Looks like we've got company," he said, and Dean nodded his head stiffly. He knew that the younger man had been watching the car in the rearview mirror like a hawk. He sped up the car experimentally, heading down a random alley in what was either an attempt to shake their pursuers or get them off of a public street for the fight he could feel coming.

"Hope you've got a hang of that gun, Gibbs," Dean said. "Because I have a feeling those guys want a little more than a friendly chat."

He removed his SIG from his holster, and Dean settled his hand on the butt of the sawed-off shotgun that was strapped to his leg. He sped up slightly, weaving from side street to side street, the blue sedan accelerating to keep up with them. "You and Ziva would get along well," Gibbs commented as Dean took a sharp corner and he was thrown into the passenger door of the Impala.

“Why?" Dean asked gruffly.

"This is how she drives on a normal day." He punctuated the sentence by rolling down the window, leaning out with his gun in hand.

"Whoa, what the hell are you doing?"

"Stopping them from following us," Gibbs said, firing off three shots in quick succession at the front wheels of the sedan, and all three shots hit home. The vehicle skidded out of control, crashing into a fire hydrant that Dean had only narrowly avoided. The hydrant burst open, spraying the entire section of the sidewalk with water. The sedan had been stopped dead in its tracks. "Floor it!" Gibbs said when Dean looked as though he was about to brake.

"If we don't take care of them now, they'll just come after us later!" Dean exclaimed.

"If we get caught in a firefight with two demons that look like people in the middle of the street, the director is going to be asking me questions I can't answer. Get us the hell out of here!" Gibbs commanded, using a tone that would have made Tony and McGee hide under a table. Unfortunately, Dean didn't seem to be as strongly affected.

"If we don't get those bastards now, we'll regret it. You see their eyes? Black. They're demons," he said as he jammed his foot down, halting the car. Dean hopped out of the driver's side, shotgun already lifted in front of him. Gibbs let out an irritated sigh before following suit.

"Use the shotgun!" Dean yelled. "Your SIG's useless against demons, it'll just bloody up the host."

Gibbs ignored Dean for a moment, raising his SIG and pointing it at the traffic cam above them. He narrowed his eyes through the crosshairs and a landed a clean shot at the lens, shattering it into a million pieces. Then he holstered his SIG and removed the sawed-off shotgun from the holster on his back, bringing it up and firing off a shot at the balding man with pitch black eyes who had just scrambled out of the inoperative Sedan.

The demon's head erupted in a spray of blood, and the body fell to the ground with a thump. The one that had been driving had an M4, but before his finger could find the trigger, Dean dispatched him with a well-placed shot to the chest. The two demons were both on the ground, now. Dean raced up, the same knife he'd had earlier in his hand, and stabbed them hard in the back, first one, then the other. Electricity arced from the blade, there was a flash of orange light, and the bodies went still.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Dean asked, sheathing his weapon and walking back to the Impala. "Nice shot on the camera, by the way."

"You just going to leave the bodies there?"

"Normally, I'd do something with them, but if what Cas told us is true, we're kinda running on a tight schedule here," Dean said. "Plus, those were just the first of many. We don't want to stick around here."

"They're after us because that Orochi thing bit us?" Gibbs asked, and Dean nodded as they pulled onto the road that ran along the Potomac, leading back to the Navy Yard.

"Yeah. They don't want that thing rising up anymore than we do. Apocalypse is bad enough, but being enslaved by something a million times more powerful than you is something that demons and humans both don't like. Since we're the Orochi's future hosts..."

"They want to get us out of the way," Gibbs finished, giving Dean and appraising look. "This normal for you and your brother?"

Dean let out something that was a cross between a laugh and a sigh. "What can I say? The paranormal _is_ our normal."

Gibbs snorted. "We've got to come up with some kind of cover for you and your brother, or we're going to have a problem. What ID do you have on you now?" Gibbs asked.

"The ones we brought to the house with us were FBI, but we've got dozens back at the motel. ATF, FDA, NSA, CIA, CDC, Federal Marshals, Homeland Security, Coast Guard, Customs - hell, I think one of the only federal IDs we don't have are for NCIS." He smirked. "Going to need to change that."

"FBI will work for a little while, long as Director Vance doesn't check with the higher ups over at the Hoover building. 'Course I suppose if this isn't cleared up in a few days, you and I will be dead anyway, so you don't really need a deep cover," Gibbs said.

"Thanks for that ray of sunshine," Dean muttered as they traveled along the steadily flowing Potomac. "We've got the right ID and the fed suits, should last us long enough to catch this joker."

"Better hope so," Gibbs said as they pulled into the parking garage and Dean turned off the Impala. Just as he stepped out, his phone rang. He checked the caller ID. "Come on, Abby's got something for us."

* * *

"Director! How nice to see you..." Tony said, quickly adopting a grin and taking a large step to stand in front of Abby's computer, blocking it from Vance's view. He felt McGee, Abby and Ziva tense visibly next to him.

"You care to tell me what's going on here, Special Agent DiNozzo?" Vance asked, eyeing him with outright suspicion. However, before Tony could drum up an appropriate lie that wouldn't put him on the receiving end of a head smack from Gibbs later, Sam took the initiative, removing what Tony identified to be an FBI ID from the pocket of his suit jacket.

"Director, I'm Special Agent Diamond from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'm here to look into your current case in relation to a series of serial killings in the Midwest. The modus operandi is similar," Sam said smoothly, and Tony had to admire the man's skill to concoct such a convincing lie on the spot like that.

"I wasn't made aware that the FBI would be involved in this case," Vance said slowly as he strolled into the center of Abby's lab.

"We just got this case ourselves about two hours ago, Director," Ziva said. "And... Agent Diamond just arrived. We are currently doing a comparative crime analysis to see if it could possibly be the same killer."

"Does Gibbs know he's here?" Vance asked, still not seeming terribly convinced.

"Gibbs is taking my partner, Agent Young, to the crime scene," Sam answered. "They should be back any second, now."

"Fornell brought them over, told Gibbs what was going on. Sorry we forgot to fill you in, Director," Tony said, a fake apology in his voice.

"And why exactly are you all down here and not in the squad room at your desks?" he pressed with the raise of an eyebrow.

"It's... kind of hot up there, you know, with the sky lights, and Agent Diamond here is very sensitive to heat and sun so we uh... we set up shop down here." Okay, it wasn't his best, but it was all he could come up with at the moment. Sam and the others nodded their heads fervently in agreement.

"Sensitive to heat and the sun," Vance repeated. "It's January."

"Late January," Abby pointed out.

"Mid-January," the director corrected, seeming not at all pleased with the group of them. "When Gibbs comes back from wherever the hell he _actually_ is, tell him I want him in my office ASAP."

"Of course, Director," Tony said with a nod of his head. Vance, casting them one last glance, exited the lab. They all let out one simultaneous sigh of relief. "Abs, call Gibbs and find out how close he and Dean are. We need to fill him in on this Irena chick before Vance reams him out." His eyes flitted towards Sam for a moment. "Nice cover back there, by the way."

Sam shrugged in response as Abby took out her phone. "I'm used to it. Dean and I use the FBI as a cover a lot." He removed the fake ID from his pocket and flashed it at Tony. He had to admit, it looked completely legitimate to him. "Most people don't react that well when you say you're hunting demons. Not to mention... well... Dean and are I supposed to be dead."

"How's that?" McGee asked, brow furrowed.

"Uh, well, it's kind of a long story..."

"Gibbs?" Abby said as she got their boss on the other line. "Yeah, we've found our witch. At least, we think we've found our witch. Well, I guess she's not really _our_ witch, but... okay, we're waiting for you." She hung up the phone. "Bossman and Dean just got back, they'll be up in a minute or two."

"Do you and your brother have a lot of experience with witches?" McGee asked, gesturing at the police report still up on the computer. "Because I can honestly say that we've never dealt with anything like this before."

"Yeah, are we dealing with more _Hocus Pocus_ or _The Devil Rides Out_?" Tony inquired. Apparently Sam hadn't heard of either movies, if his confused expression was any indication. "I mean, what kind of threat are they?"

"A big one," Sam answered darkly. "Dean and I have dealt with witches before, and we've only managed to actually kill a few of them. Generally, witches gain their powers by selling their souls to demons, unless they were born naturally adept at magic, which is rare. They've got every nasty power in the book and they'll do anything to achieve their goals - murder, infanticide, cannibalism, human sacrifices... in other words, not pleasant. A lot of them are hundreds of years old, since they can cast immortality spells on themselves."

"Immortality?" Tony repeated incredulously. "Wait a minute, don't we have to kill her in order to stop this Orochi thing from being summoned again as soon as we get rid of it?"

"You are mixing up immortality and invincibility, Tony," Ziva said. "It means that she will never die of natural causes, but she can still be hurt."

"She's right," Sam agreed. "Only problem is getting close enough to kill her before she kills us."

"How likely is that, exactly?" McGee asked worriedly.

"Pretty likely," Sam answered with a frown. "They're dangerous. The main thing you need to watch out for are hex bags." After seeing the confused looks of Tony, McGee, and Ziva, Sam began to explain. "Hex bags are-"

"Ooh, ooh, let me!" Abby said, bouncing up and down on her platforms. Sam seemed surprised, but gestured for her to continue. "A hex bag is a charm composed of a mixture of herbs, talismans, and other supernatural-y ingredients placed in a piece of cloth and then bound with leather. It's used to bring about a specific effect, usually a bad one, but not always. A hex bag intended to harm someone also contains a personal belonging of the intended victim, usually clothing, jewelry, something like that. Supposedly, the only ways to stop a hex bag is to find and burn it, have the witch casting the spell break it, or have a powerful counter-spell cast."

Sam seemed impressed by her knowledge. "That's pretty much the long and short of it."

McGee seemed more concerned by her intimate knowledge of witchcraft. "Abby, how do you know so much about this?"

Abby merely gave him a wicked grin in response. "Oh, Timmy, the stories I could tell you." McGee gulped nervously in response.

"How 'bout you tell me a story instead, Abs?" Gibbs asked, coming into the lab with Dean following close behind.

"We might've found the witch who summoned Orochi, Gibbs," Abby said, spinning on her stool and bringing up the police report on the plasma screen, knowing Gibbs's eyesight difficulties. Gibbs scanned over it, Dean doing the same next to him.

"I talked to Bobby," Sam said. "He says it sounds like a witch named Irena Lund." Dean spun around in a flash upon hearing this.

"Irena Lund?" he repeated. "You've got to be kidding."

"Friend of yours?" Tony asked dryly with an arched eyebrow.

"She's in Dad's journal. He ran into her 'bout twenty years back, when Sam and I were still kids. Nearly killed our old man, left him a few nasty-ass scars to boot. He said that she's got powers that he'd never seen before, that there wasn't any human left in her. He was half-convinced she was a demon instead of a witch." Dean shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "This is not good."

"I'm pretty sure this was 'not good' long before now," Tony said. "What's the next step, boss?"

"Should we not do more research on the Orochi?" Ziva asked from where she stood beside Abby.

"We're pressed for time, Ziva," Gibbs said before turning his back on the plasma screen and facing his team and the Winchester brothers. "This is the only thing we have that's even close to a lead. Two of us stakeout, two of us go in undercover to see what they can dig up from the regulars at the bar, the workers at the homeless shelter."

"Why not just go in and question them as usual? Why do we need to go undercover?" Ziva inquired.

"The people in that part of town don't really react all that well to cops," Tony said. "It'll be a lot easier to get them to talk if we just seem like your average, impoverished bar patrons." He then grinned at Gibbs. "Since I'm the senior field agent and the team's resident undercover specialist, I assume I'm going into the bar, boss?"

Gibbs seemed to be on the verge of smirking at him as he responded. "No, no... Ziva's going into the bar. You'll be playing a homeless guy, beggin' on the street corner."

"Oh. That's..." _Demeaning._ "That's great. Fantastic."


	7. Harvester of Sorrow

"Boss," Tony said just loud enough for the wire to pick up his voice. "This place smells like old feet."

"Deal with it, DiNozzo," Gibbs responded into the microphone. While Tony continued ramble, he took of the headset and handed it to Dean. "You really want to help?" The hunter nodded. "Make him shut up."

"This isn't in my job description," Dean muttered before putting on the headset. "It's Dean. Yeah. I know. I know that too. Well, Sam and I have had to do way worse. You do realize everyone who walks past you is going to think you're talking to yourself? Hey, I've met homeless dudes that don't talk to themselves. How the hell should I know?"

Gibbs smirked as he listened to Dean's side of the conversation and made his way through a burger, having gotten fast food for himself and Dean before the stakeout began. He had known when he had brought the Winchester brothers into the investigation that Dean and Tony's personalities would clash in an amusing fashion. He decided that by the time this was all over, either ending with them defeating the Orochi or ending in their untimely deaths, the two men would either be best friends or worst enemies.

After Gibbs and Dean had arrived back at NCIS and were briefed on Irena Lund and what appeared to be her hunting grounds, Gibbs had the delight of spending an hour up in Vance's office weaving what he personally thought to be a particularly convincing lie as to why he hadn't given him a heads up about the 'FBI' and why they needed to consult on the rest of the investigation, even though they were fairly sure that the serial killer from the Midwest was not involved in Lance Corporal Belisarius's murder.

However, they had hit a bump in the road. Ducky had been down in autopsy trying to come up with a reasonable cause of death for the Lance Corporal, and Vance was waiting. The fact was, there wasn't really a decent way to explain away someone being ripped apart limb from limb and a solid eighty percent of their body getting turned into dog food. Vance was looking for answers, and the ones they had weren't going to cut it. He imagined the director wouldn't take 'a demon did it' very well.

So, right now, Ducky and Abby were doing a wonderful job of stalling him and trying to come up with a decent reason why a very violent, rabid wolverine could have made its way into the apartment and massacred the Lance Corporal. He didn't envy them their position.

The mid-winter sun was currently inching its way towards the horizon. It was around 1700 hours. They had spent most of the afternoon in the bullpen researching the Orochi. Or rather, Tony had been researching the Orochi while he had McGee and Ziva checking up on witch lore.

By the time the six of them had left NCIS to stakeout Dominic's and the homeless shelter, McGee and Ziva's eyes had been wide, apparently not thrilled with what they discovered about witches. Tony had filled them in on what he had learned about the Orochi in the bullpen before they left for Anacostia.

"So, like your angel buddy told us earlier, the Orochi demon, according to Japanese mythology... or not-so-mythology, the Yamata-no-Orochi is an eight headed snake serpent. It's favorite past times include eating people and destroying everything in sight," Tony explained, seeming wholly displeased by the information he had gleaned about the monster they were facing.

"How's the old myth go?" Sam said. "It might give us some idea of how to kill it."

"Well, this Japanese god, Susano, he found a couple and their daughter crying by a river. They explained why they were crying to him. Apparently, every year, the Orochi came to devour one of their daughters. That year, they had to give up their eighth and final daughter. To save her, Susano proposed to the daughter. When she accepted, he transformed her into a comb that he carried in his hair. He told the girl's parents they had to brew sake and refine it eight times. They had to also build an enclosure with eight gates, each of which included a vat of sake," Tony explained.

McGee snorted slightly. "This sounds right up your alley, Tony."

"Shut it, McCheeky. When the Orochi arrived, he was lured in towards the sake, and he dipped each of his heads into one of the vats. He got drunk off of the sake, and that allowed Susano to slay the thing and cut it to pieces. I couldn't find anything more specific on how he killed the thing."

"Great," Dean growled. "The one part we need to know the most. Guess we'll just have to count on Cas for that."

"Wait, one more thing. Apparently, when Susano cut open the Orochi, there was this blade inside of it called the Kusunagi. He presented it to the Japanese sun god Amaterasu as a gift," he told the room at large before he finished donning his outfit - rugged, too-big clothing with holes and an interesting smell to it accompanied by a watch cap and a very convincing fake beard. He sniffed himself experimentally. He had to admit, he felt a small pang of pity for his senior field agent. The outfit smelled like mothballs and shame.

"A sword? Perhaps that is what we need to defeat the Orochi?" Ziva proposed.

"Yeah, well, a sword is generally used to kill. Which means we either a) let Gibbs, McGee, Sam and Dean get turned into soul food by the Orochi, or b) we kill one of them while the Orochi is in there bodies. I don't know about you, but I kind of like them alive, so..."

"I like living," McGee said in a small voice.

"Well, if Cas decides to grace us with his presence, we'll see what he knows about the Kusanagi. Chances are if the sun god's still got it, it's not going to be easy to find," Dean said, shouldering his bag. "Can we get out of here already? Your boss is only gonna buy that we're FBI for so long, and I don't really want to be around when he calls the man in charge over at the Hoover building."

"Let's go," Gibbs said, and from there, he, Dean, Tony, and Ziva had taken the surveillance van to the homeless shelter and bar in Anacostia, while Sam and McGee took the Impala back to Gibbs's fishing cabin. Gibbs and Dean would be taking the first twelve hour shift, providing back up to Tony and Ziva, should they need it, and keeping an eye on the area. Meanwhile, Sam and McGee would be eating their dinner and trying to get some shut-eye, all the while avoiding demons. McGee had been given a shotgun with rock-salt shells as well, just as Gibbs had.

So, here they were, waiting for something to happen to either Tony or Ziva, waiting for one of them to see something suspicious, to see a sign of the witch. It would've helped if they had some kind of description of what she looked like outside of John Winchester's description of 'pretty damn gorgeous' in his journal.

"I'm getting off now. Yeah, I've seen _Evil Dead._ No. No. And no. I'm going. Bye." Dean passed the headset back to Gibbs. "I'm just a man, Gibbs."

"Welcome to my world," he said, placing the headset back on his head, not intending on leaving DiNozzo unsupervised. His senior field agent seemed to have settled down somewhat, as all he could hear in the headphones was the steady sound of Tony's breathing. He offered Dean the other headset. "This is Ziva's. You keep an ear on her, I'll watch DiNozzo."

"You're a saint," he said, placing the headset over his ears. "Agent David? Can you hear me?" There was a short pause. "How're things looking in there?" Dean nodded as Ziva spoke. "Just don't act too classy, alright? A chick like you in a bar like that's already sticking out, you need to blend in."

That much was true. Dominic's was about as low brow as they came - the kind that the alcohol distribution license on the wall was eight years expired and there were generally a hundred flies for every person there. Not a place you would find a woman who looked like Ziva.

The next few hours passed by in a blur of the two of them alternating between occasional talk about the demon, or what the Winchester brothers had been up to for the past few years. Dean told Gibbs about his father's death in more detail, about how he died at the hands of Yellow Eyes. Once that was explained, the two men resigned themselves to a mostly consistent silence, something that neither of them had much of a problem with. It was only interrupted by sporadic reports from Tony and Ziva.

Ziva had unsurprisingly been hit on by every man with a pulse since she had walked into the bar, since as Dean had so deftly pointed out 'a chick like her in a bar like that' was bound to draw some attention. Tony chimed in every now and then to report on one of the passing by vagrants or complain about his current situation. Gibbs would just growl something threatening enough to shut the agent up for a little bit, then roll his eyes. Tony was one of, if not _the_ best agent he had ever worked with - but good lord, did he whine.

Finally, at midnight, Tony let them know that he was going to head inside of the shelter to grab a mattress, scope out the inside, and catch some sleep. "Do I get to keep the change I got today? I think I've made a solid six or seven dollars..." Gibbs didn't reply for a long period of time, and then he heard a sharp slap on the other end. "This one's on me, boss."

"Sweet dreams, DiNozzo," Gibbs said as he watched the disguised man slink inside the homeless shelter, which was suffused with warm yellow light, and a sign that proclaimed 'open all night'.

He leaned back into his seat in the van, letting out a small sigh as he listened to Dean checking in with Ziva, whom he was now on a first name basis with. They seemed to be getting on fairly well, actually, in the moments where Ziva wasn't occupied by one of the unpleasant men in the bar. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting off his growing fatigue. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

McGee soon found out that for a 6' 4" giant who spent his time killing monsters, Sam Winchester was stunningly... normal. He wasn't how he thought he would be. He thought he'd be surly, probably a bit paranoid, and overall silent, but the younger Winchester actually provided pleasant conversation over the course of the day. Honestly, he liked Sam. It also helped to know that Sam and his brother would be very motivated to save he and Gibbs, since they had been put in exactly the same boat when they themselves were bitten by the Orochi.

Speaking of, he was beginning to feel some of the side effects of the Orochi's venom. When they arrived at Gibbs's fishing cabin, he had unintentionally slammed the door to the Impala too hard and ended up shattering the passenger seat window. "Oh my God," he said, backing away from the shattered glass on the ground. "I - I didn't mean to do that, I swear!"

Sam's eyes widened at the damaged window, but he assured McGee that it was no harm, no foul. "I think under the circumstances, Dean will understand," he informed him. However, the look on Sam's face told McGee that what he had just said was more of a comforting lie. "Don't feel bad. When I used the bathroom back at NCIS I accidentally ripped one of the stall doors off of its hinges when I tried to open it."

"Guess we're just going to have to adjust to the new strength until we get rid of this thing," McGee said, flexing his hand with a worried frown. What if he went to hug Abby, and he ended up breaking one of her ribs? He didn't like the idea that he could do so much damage without meaning to.

They had made their way inside, carrying in the groceries that they had picked up to stock the safe house on the way. After the fridge was loaded, they settled into a dinner of ramen noodles and warm Pepsi, sitting on the lone couch in the small cabin. He was curious about how Sam and Dean went about their chosen profession, and Sam answered his questions, for the most part, as long as they didn't stray into anything terribly personal. He could tell that the hunter's past wasn't his favorite subject.

"So you and your brother... this is your life? You go around the country and investigate cases that have something paranormal about them?" McGee asked through a mouthful of noodles.

"Pretty much," Sam responded. "What we do is a lot like you do, really, without the resources and the, you know, legally sanctioned aspect of it."

"Do you have a permanent home, or are you just always on the road? Hotels, motels..."

"The closest thing Dean and I have to a home is Bobby's place and the Impala. We didn't even really have a home growing up, after..." he trailed off, taking a sip of his drink and diverting his eyes.

"After what?" McGee asked carefully, not wanting to push the matter.

"After our mother died," he replied finally.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine, I mean... I was only a baby. I don't really remember her," Sam said quietly.

"And your brother?"

"Dean remembers. I'll leave it at that."

The rest of the evening passed by without event. Sam showed him around one of the shotguns with bullets designed to work against demons, and gave him a quick tutorial on how to go about fighting a demon, if they were to encounter one other than Orochi, which was likely.

"Sam, what will happen..." McGee trailed off as he fired off another shot with the sawed-off shotgun, getting a feel for the recoil. "If... if the demon gets me? I mean, I was the first one marked after Lance Corporal Belisarius, so he - it, whatever - will go after me first, probably."

Sam gave him a grave look before passing him a handful of shotgun shells. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

Uplifting.

McGee and Sam went to bed early, knowing that they'd have to be up around four thirty to have enough time to get ready and make it to Dominic's at six, when they were due to start their surveillance shift. They would trade off with Gibbs and Dean, who would take the Impala and head back to the fishing cabin to sleep while he and Sam watched over Ziva and Tony.

When they arrived, Gibbs and Dean both looked rather the worse for wear, eyes barely open, several dozen cups of coffee discarded in the surveillance van among fast food wrappers. "Quiet night, boss?"

"What do you think, McGee?" Gibbs muttered as he brushed past him. "DiNozzo's asleep still, Ziva's talking to the bartender now that the crowd's petered out. Call us if anything happens."

"Got it, boss," McGee said with a dutiful nod.

"Sammy, if I get back and people are dead, I'm gonna kick your ass," Dean said, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes in a way that made the man look much younger than McGee assumed him to be. Sam rolled his eyes and playfully shoulder-checked his brother as they switched vehicles. Sam closed the doors to the surveillance van just as he heard Dean's anguished shout when he saw the shattered window of the Impala.

McGee and Sam settled in, preparing themselves for the next twelve hours.

The morning was mostly uneventful. Activity picked up on Ziva's end as the third shift factory workers finished for the day and made their way to the bar. Ziva said that she believed the homeless shelter was being used as a hunting ground, not the bar, because she had so far seen very few females other than herself there, and none of them struck her as being particularly witch-y.

Tony woke up at ten, chatting animatedly into his thick faux beard as he made his way back outside, taking up his seat on the curb and resuming his begging. "Well, I made it through the night without being witch-napped. There were a few girls in the shelter, young runaways. There were a few female social workers running the place, too. One of them could be Irena."

By the time noon rolled around, Ziva was forced to depart the bar since it closed, and she made her way to the surveillance van, discretely slipping between the back double doors. "That was the single longest night of my entire life, and I have spent a night in a sewage ditch with a sweaty Arabic man armed with only a toothpick."

"What?" Sam asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

"She's ex-Mossad," McGee said, by way of explanation. "Israeli special forces."

"Ah," Sam said slowly. "So, no sign of anyone that could be Irena?" Ziva shook her head in response.

"Most of the women in the bar were rather... unsightly. I do not see why a witch would let herself appear as such."

"Tony thinks one of the social workers could be Irena, so at least the night wasn't completely useless," McGee said as Ziva leaned against the side of the van, eyes fluttering. "Ziva, I've got a thick jacket in my duffel bag. You can curl up under that if you want to catch some shuteye. The two of us can handle Tony."

"That sounds incredibly nice," Ziva said, punctuating the sentence by yawning noisily. She removed McGee's jacket from his bag, then used the duffel bag as a pillow as she curled up underneath his coat. She fell asleep almost instantly, her snores that sounded much like a chainsaw filling the surveillance van. Sam's eyes widened comically.

"Is that coming from _her_?" he asked incredulously. McGee nodded with a slight smile.

"Oh yeah. That's Ziva - stealthy and silent by day, obvious and obnoxious by night." Sam laughed in response. McGee smiled, but his expression grew worried as he realized there was literally no noise coming from Tony on their connection - he couldn't hear his friend's breathing any longer.

"Tony? You there?" No answer. "DiNozzo!" Nothing.

He and Sam both looked simultaneously to the curb where Tony had been 'begging', and were horrified to see that he was nowhere in sight.


	8. Fade to Black

"Damn it, we only looked away for a second!" Sam cursed, running a hand through his hair with agitation. McGee shook his head, panic slowly rising in his chest. Tony was gone, most likely kidnapped by a witch strong enough to raise a demon that had the potential to destroy the entire world.

Oh, this was bad - very, _very_ bad.

"Oh, God, Gibbs is gonna kill me," McGee said, shaking his head as he dug in his bag for his phone. "I've got to call him, we need a plan."

"We can't wait around for my brother and Gibbs to get here!" Sam said. "This witch, if she knows who Tony is, knows that he's trying to help us take down Orochi, she won't hesitate to kill him. One of us has to go into the homeless shelter. That's the only place he can be. If he was whisked of somewhere, we don't have a chance of finding him, so we need to hope like hell that he's inside of the shelter."

"I'll do it." Both men jumped in their seats at the sound of Ziva's voice. McGee turned, looking at his partner with a furrowed brow.

"I thought you were asleep?"

"I woke up when you shouted Tony's name," she said. "He is missing, yes?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded in affirmation. "Sending you in alone is not a good idea."

"More than one person will draw attention, and we have no more disguises. I will no doubt stick out like a sore toe-"

"Thumb," McGee corrected automatically.

"-on my own, but hopefully I can avoid notice long enough to find where Tony has gone."

McGee paused, glancing sideways at Sam. "This is a bad idea, Ziva."

"Call Gibbs. While we wait for he and Dean to arrive, I will perform reconnaissance on the shelter. It is a waste of time to just sit here when Tony could be in danger," Ziva reasoned, and McGee had to agree that the other agent made a valid point. He sighed.

"Do you still have your earwig in?" he asked. She nodded. "Okay, good. Make up some story about you being a reporter with the local newspaper or something, they'd never believe that you're homeless."

"Alright," Ziva responded, and without hesitation she slid open the back door of the van and made her way out, crossing the street and disappearing into the homeless shelter. McGee motioned for Sam to hand him the headset that was connected to Ziva's earwig and slid it over his ears.

"Be careful, Ziva. Don't let your guard down for a second."

"Do I ever?" she whispered back. "Tony mentioned a female social worker, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Then I will start with her. Unless she has somehow teleported him - assuming it actually _was_ the witch - he is most likely inside of here," she reasoned. "I will keep you updated."

McGee nodded at Ziva's words. "Okay." He then looked at Sam. "Do you have Gibbs's number?"

"No, not to mention my phone got fried when we were at Lance Corporal Belisarius's apartment. Something about the Orochi messes with electronics. All four of our phones are dead," Sam explained.

"I think Tony gave Gibbs a new one, he keeps a stockpile of phones for him."

"Why?" Sam asked, confused.

"Um... he's kind of technologically challenged," McGee explained. "Anyway, then number should be the same. Here." He tossed his cell phone to Sam. "He's speed dial one."

* * *

"You _lost_ DiNozzo?" Gibbs repeated roughly as he paced around the small fishing cabin, having been roused from his slumber by the call from Sam on McGee's phone.

"He was there one second, and gone the next," Sam explained as he heard McGee's muffled voice in the background. "We sent Ziva in after him, hopefully she'll be able to find where he's been taken, if Irena really did find him."

"And what if she did?" he asked. "What'll happen to Tony? What'll happen to Ziva, if she gets to her, too?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Not anything good. It would probably be a good idea for you and Dean to get here, and fast. If she's nearby, and she summons a hoard of demons to help her and sends them after us, McGee and I aren't going to be enough to stop them. Right now, Ziva's fine. She's searching the shelter top to bottom for him."

"We'll be there in an hour. I want you checking in on Ziva every minute. I'm not losing both of them today," he growled before hitting the end button and shoving his phone in the pocket of his hoodie. He walked over to the cot where Dean was sleeping, mouth hanging slightly open, his slumber marked by almost-snores. He nudged the hunter slightly.

His reaction was instant, forest green eyes breaking open as he practically threw himself out of the bed, grabbing the pistol he had apparently stowed under the pillow and pointing it around wildly as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "Wuzz goin' on?" he managed, speech barely coherent.

He was reminded stunningly of Tony. The memory of him jumping up like a mad man when Ziva had poured cold water on his head during their undercover mission, gun in hand and clad only in his underwear played out in Gibbs's mind. This also reminded him that Tony was currently MIA. _I've never lost an agent undercover,_ Gibbs thought darkly. _I'll be damned if I'm going to let DiNozzo screw that record up._

"We gotta go," Gibbs explained, carefully putting his hands over Dean's and lowering the gun that was unceremoniously pointed directly at his face. Dean blinked several times, finally starting to fully come to. "Tony's gone."

"Gone," Dean repeated slowly, eyebrows knitting together. "Define gone."

"Missing. Earwig feed's dead, they don't have a visual. One second he was there, the next second he was out of sight and his com was down. They sent Ziva in after him, they think he's inside the homeless shelter somewhere. We need to get over there in case the witch calls up reinforcements," Gibbs told him as he grabbed his bag and tossed Dean his discarded shirt, since he had been sleeping without it.

“Crap," Dean said, tugging the cotton tee shirt over his head. "Guess our luck's extending to you guys. Well, on the flip side, she'll at least torture him for awhile before she kills him, so at least we've got time to find him."

Gibbs wasn't particularly comforted by Dean's comments.

"I intend on gettin' him out before that happens," he said, opening the front door a little too hard. It came off of its hinges. He threw the broken door to the side, not giving a damn at the moment that it was going to be freezing inside the cabin when they came back. "Damn demon venom," Gibbs cursed as he made his way out to the Impala, Dean trailing close behind as the oldest Winchester tugged his jacket tight around himself.

Dean carefully opened the door, frowning at the shattered window on Gibbs's side that McGee had apologized profusely for earlier (trying hard to talk over Dean's death threats) and offered to pay for. Dean slipped into the driver's seat.

"Time to save the day," he muttered dryly before trundling down the dirt road that led back to the city.

About forty minutes later, the Impala roared onto Lyndon Street, where Dominic's and the homeless shelter were located. Dean parked the car a short distance behind the MCRT surveillance van. The two of them quickly exited the vehicle and made their way to the van, knocking on the back doors. A second later, Sam let the two of them in. As soon as Gibbs stepped inside and saw the look on McGee's face, he knew that things had only gone from bad to worse since he had spoken to him an hour ago. Sam looked at Dean with a similar expression.

"I don't like that look, McGee," Gibbs said.

"What's happening?" Dean asked.

McGee's frown deepened. "Boss... about ten minutes ago, I was just about to call you..."

"Spit it out, McGee!"

"Ziva's feed went dead," Sam said, answering in McGee's stead. "One second, she's talking to a social worker, the next second, nothing. Just like Tony's."

"Damn it," Gibbs swore. "This means that DiNozzo and Ziva are trapped inside. Did you get the name of the social worker Ziva was talking to?"

"Linda," McGee responded. "She said her name was Linda. That must be the witch, and she must have her base of operations somewhere in the homeless shelter."

"They have to be inside somewhere," Sam confirmed.

"What's the plan, boss?" McGee asked.

It was Dean who replied instead of Gibbs. "What the hell do you think the plan is? We go in, waste the bitch, and get them back!"

Sam had a look on his face that expressed agreement with his brother. McGee was looking at Gibbs with wide eyes, apparently waiting for him to say something. Gibbs nodded. "Seems like a good plan to me."

"Alright then," Dean said, turning his back to head out of the van. "Come on, Sam."

"Hold it," Gibbs commanded, halting Dean in his steps. "McGee, take Sam, search the place, but stay hidden. Don't let anyone see you. Finding the witch is second priority now, getting Tony and Ziva back is more important."

"Sammy and I can handle this, Gibbs, we know what we're doing."

"And McGee knows what he's doing. You're searching for some place hidden, some place that no one's found in all the time this Linda woman's worked there. McGee's got keen eyes and he's worked with us on cases like this before. I trust him to do this."

"Gibbs..." Dean sighed as McGee ducked his head slightly, trying and failing to hide his slight blush.

"Keep in mind I'm _letting_ you work this case," Gibbs said. "You and I stay here, watch the perimeter, make sure no one leaves the building." He looked at McGee and Sam. "If you two aren't back in twenty minutes, I'm calling in Balboa's team and we're raiding the place. Got it?"

Sam looked to Dean for confirmation that they were going along with the plan. Dean seemed torn for a moment, but then nodded and gestured towards the back door. "Fine, but you better come back in one piece."

"I always do," Sam said, which received him an eyeroll from Dean. He and McGee made their way past Gibbs and out of the van. Once the doors closed behind them, Dean sighed heavily before sinking down in the passenger seat. Gibbs leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and looking at the older Winchester.

"You know what makes me nervous, Gibbs?" Dean asked after a few beats of silence. "Sending my brother into a dangerous situation with someone who wouldn't know a demon from their next door neighbor. I get that your man is good, Gibbs, he wouldn't be working for you if he wasn't, but the fact still stands that he ain't a hunter," he said, seeming not at all pleased by the turn of events.

"Twenty minutes," Gibbs reminded him. "Twenty minutes, and we'll go in guns blazing, just the way you like," he said, remembering the hunter's preferred approach from the case they had worked together almost a decade ago.

"I left a hell of an impression on you, didn't I?" Dean asked, his lips threatening to twitch up into a smirk.

"You and your dad both," Gibbs replied, memories of the old case floating to the forefront of his mind. There had been a series of mysterious murders on a Marine amphibious assault vessel, the _USS Kearsarge,_ that were leaving plenty of blood behind, but very little physical evidence pointing to who might have been behind it. All three of the victims had been beaten viciously before being forcibly drowned in one of the sinks.

He and Stan had gone to investigate the murders when the _Kearsarge_ was docked in Norfolk, and Gibbs had been attacked and had almost been drowned by the vengeful spirit of a dead Marine that had been wounded and left behind to drown by his heartless CO. Gibbs was sure he was going to die when two men, disguised as Marines, entered the bathroom and stopped the spirit with what he later found out were rock-salt rounds.

_…Ten years earlier…_

He heard the sound of a gun going off, and then he felt the pressure on the back of his head lift. Suddenly he was being pulled back by a strong hand. Spluttering and coughing up the water, he looked into the brown eyes of the older man - a Marine, supposedly - who had saved him. Nearby, a much younger man, probably only twenty or twenty-one, held the gun that had apparently taken care of whatever the hell had just attacked him.

The thing - man, whatever - that had attacked him was a Marine, but his skin had been a gray color, his eyes pale and staring, and he did not speak when he assaulted Gibbs. He had fought as best he could, but his punches had sailed directly through the man, and he had received a hell of a beating. He was bleeding badly from a gash above his eye and along his jaw line, and he was half-sure that he had broken a rib.

"What was that!?" he burst out, still coughing up copious amounts of water over his shoes.

"That was a vengeful spirit who's flavor of the week happens to be Marines, current and ex, judging by the cut," the younger one answered, holstering the weapon that was most certainly not issued to him by the Corps.

"No such thing," he said at the exact same time as the older man, who smirked slightly.

"Who are you?" Gibbs asked, managing to compose himself enough to stand. They definitely weren't Marines. The older man extended a hand.

"Doesn't matter who we are, just that we're here to stop that thing." Gibbs took his hand and gave his as firm as shake as he could under present conditions.

"Only one question for you - how?"

_…_

From there, with Gibbs's help, they had the dead Marine's CO dishonorably discharged for dereliction of duty, giving the vengeful spirit the justice that it wanted, since his body had been abandoned and never found, and they were thus unable to salt and burn his bones, which John and Dean had explained was the traditional way of disposing of spirits.

He had gotten a crash course in hunting and the supernatural. He hadn't wanted a repeat experience, but he was glad that they'd run into Dean and his brother. Dean was a good man, he knew that much, and from what he had gleaned from Sam so far, he also seemed to be cut from the same cloth. Antichrist or not, he could see in Sam's eyes that the guy wouldn't hurt a fly if he didn't absolutely have to.

He could only hope that this hunt turned out as well as the last one. So far, his hopes weren't high.

_Damn it, DiNozzo, David... don't do this to me..._

* * *

Ziva blinked her eyes blearily as she came to, and she realized almost immediately that she wasn't in a particularly good situation. She smelled the strong scent of incense, the room she was in was unpleasantly hot, and she could tell that she was bound to a chair - not a comfortable one, either. Her hands and feet were immobilized. When she lifted her head to take in her surroundings, one of the first things she saw was Tony, who was tied to the chair directly next to hers.

"Welcome to the party, Zee-vah. You've been out for awhile," he greeted dryly.

"What... where are we?"

"No clue. The Wicked Witch of DC pricked me with the same knockout crap she injected you with. One second, I'm a homeless man simply minding my own business, next I'm waking up down here, tied to this chair, all my weapons gone," he explained, leaning back as much as he could with his hands and feet bound.

"Your wire?" she asked.

"Taken out. I'm sure yours is, too," he responded.

"This is bad," Ziva said, looking around the room. There were hundreds of books, all in thick and old bindings. There were candles laid out on most of the flat surfaces, and several inverted pentagrams were carved into the floor in various places. Shelves lined the walls, and upon them sat dozens of jars, filled with all manner of unpleasant things. "Very, _very_ bad. Sam mentioned cannibalism, did he not?"

"Don't forget ritual human sacrifice and other fun things," Tony reminded her.

"We have to get out of here."

"Well yeah, Ziva, I kind of had that figured out on my own. I've been trying to think of a way out of here for the past hour. I've got nothing. I can't move my legs or my hands. The best I can hope for is to head butt her if she decides to get up close and personal, maybe knock her out. That still leaves us trapped, though," he said, hazel eyes sparking with irritation.

"This rope is thin. Given enough time, I may be able to saw through it with a fingernail," she said, testing the rope that bound her hands with the tip of her finger.

"How much time are we talking?" he asked.

Ziva paused for a moment, thinking. "Four to six hours."

"Yeah, I'm sure she'll leave us alone and uneaten for that long."

"Do you have any better ideas?" she snapped.

"Other than crying to inspire pity or just screaming our heads off until somebody, preferably Gibbs and McGee, find us? No," he replied. "Oh no," he said suddenly, eyes widening.

"What?" she asked, not liking the look of horror on Tony's face. "What is it?"

Tony whimpered. "My nose itches."


	9. Cross Out the Eyes

Sam and McGee entered the homeless shelter, both of them moving cautiously and keeping their eyes open for anything and everything. They had no idea what might have taken down Tony and Ziva. Sam could tell that McGee was bordering on paranoid, with the way that his pale green eyes were flicking all over the place, his hand constantly twitching for the butt of his gun.

Glancing down at his watch, he realized why - it had been just over twenty-four hours since McGee had been bitten, and he was Orochi's first target. Sam delved into the pocket of his jacket and removed a small flask of holy water, passing it over to McGee as they crossed the threshold. "Here, take this." McGee looked down at it questioningly.

"We're not supposed to drink on duty," McGee said, giving him an odd look as he made to pass the flask back. Sam shook his head.

"It's not booze, it's holy water. If you splash that on a demon, it'll burn them, sometimes enough to give them a run for their money," Sam explained. McGee nodded dimly, pocketing the flask and gulping. "Alright, let's split up. You look for some kind of secret entrance, a sub-basement - anywhere that Tony and Ziva could be."

McGee nodded. "And you'll be looking for Irena."

"Yeah. Remember, we have to clear out of here in twenty minutes, or Gibbs will call in the cavalry," he said, before heading off a side hallway and leaving McGee to his own devices. He didn't like the amount of faith that he and Dean were putting in Gibbs and his agent's abilities, but he could only hope that his brother's trust wasn't misplaced.

Keeping in mind his orders to stay hidden, he made sure to check around each corner before continuing through the mass of corridors that made up the homeless shelter. It was a bland affair, wooden doors guarded rooms piled with iron bed frames and flat mattresses. A few rooms held bathing areas, but by the looks of them, they were more likely to make you dirty than clean.

A few of the transients roaming the shelter eyed him, but he figured that it wouldn't make any difference, as long as he wasn't spotted by any of the social workers. Finally, he reached a room that appeared to be a makeshift cafeteria, with a station set up with several young women preparing sandwiches and handing them out to the men and woman gathered there. He quickly ducked behind a nearby vending machine. He peeked over the top, his eyes raking over the three women putting together the food. They were all young, not likely to be any older than sixteen, probably members of a youth group.

He did, however, spot a woman with long, blonde hair, who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. She was dressed in a clean white blouse and dark brown slacks, so she definitely wasn't one of the vagrants. He noticed a name tag, but from this distance, he couldn't make out the name. _It doesn't really matter,_ he thought to himself. _It's not like her nametag is going to read, 'Irena Lund - Witch' or something._

Currently, she was the best lead he had, so Sam hung in the shadows, waiting for the woman to make a move, keeping an eye on his watch the entire time. He definitely didn't want an NCIS team to show up here, fully armed and ready to bust down the doors. He and Dean were, after all, criminals, a fact he was incredibly surprised that none of Gibbs's team had pointed out yet. He could only assume that they had so far escaped suspicion because he and Dean were supposedly dead, and had only been wanted in the mid-west, not the east coast.

After a few minutes, the woman made her way out of the room, using the exit on the far side of the cafeteria. He skirted along the edges of the gatherings of homeless men and women, ducking his head and trying to look shorter, which was no small feat for him, and discretely followed behind the woman, stepping carefully so that the dull thud of his footsteps on the tile underneath would not be heard.

It appeared that this section of the shelter was made up of maintenance closets and the offices of the social workers who ran the shelter, all of which could probably have been mistaken for closets had they not had names labeled on the doors. He read them as he passed by. Casey Spencer. Alona Collins. Linda Ruen.

_Wait a minute. Linda Ruen?_ Why did that name sound so familiar? _Linda was the name of the social worker Ziva was talking to, right before she disappeared._ There was something else about the name that caught his attention as well, but what was it? After a moment, he blinked in realization. _That's an anagram for Irena Lund!_ He wasn't sure if that made the witch really clever, or really stupid.

He tried the door. Locked. Sam contemplated trying to pick the lock, but instead decided to continue his pursuit of the social worker. Sam stalked down the length of the corridor until he was met by an old wooden door held to the wall by rusty iron hinges. The steps leading down from the threshold were concrete, and he heard the faint click of heels echoing from the dark expanses of wherever the staircase led to.

Sam carefully made his way down, using a hand on the ice cold wall to guide him. Once he reached the sublevel, he listened closely to make sure that the social worker had moved out of earshot, wherever she was. In the distance, he heard the sound of a door being open and closed. Hopefully that meant he was getting closer to wherever Tony and Ziva were.

Sam removed his flashlight from his pocket, flicking it on and illuminating the moist and foul smelling basement. The basement was filled with broken furniture and old mattresses that were too dirty for use. Brass pipes crisscrossed on the ceiling, and one of them was leaking, a repetitive _pit-pat_ noise echoing throughout the room. Cobwebs dotted each corner, and every surface was either covered with a thin layer of water or a thick layer of dust. Pleasant. He treaded carefully, and he let the beam of light from his flashlight sweep down a corridor that opened up at the right hand corner of the basement.

He followed it, ears trained for noise up ahead. This was definitely where the sound of the door opening and closing originated from. However, when he reached the end of the hallway, there was nothing there but an empty oak bookcase. _But what if... no way. That's too cliché. Not a chance._

Apparently cliché was the flavor of the day, because when Sam pushed the bookcase to the side, he saw that there was a lever behind it. He pulled on it, and a panel opened up in the nearby wall. It seemed as though he had found the entrance to Irena's lair. Sam opened up the hidden door, putting an ear to the crack between door and wall. His flash light beam illuminated another staircase that led to the second basement. Maybe it was an abandoned bomb shelter? He could hear voices echoing. Two females, one male. He quickly identified the male as Tony and one of the females as Ziva.

"...cut out your tongue, maybe? Yes, that'll work, that's an ingredient I always have trouble getting a hold of," the witch said, an Eastern European accent prevalent in her voice.

"We are federal agents. It will soon be discovered that we are missing, and very, _very_ bad things will happen to you," Ziva replied.

"Yeah, once our boss gets a hold of you, you're going to wish that you'd never started hobo-hunting," Tony added.

"Your boss will not find me, nor will he find you. I don't keep meat down here for long. Once your usefulness has run out, I will dispose of you."

Sam quickly shut the door, knowing that he and McGee's twenty minute deadline was approaching its expiration. He knew where Tony and Ziva were being kept, and now they could regroup with Dean and Gibbs and launch an assault on the witch's den. Even if the witch was incredibly powerful, she wouldn't be able to stand up to all four of them... hopefully.

Sam slid the bookcase back over the lever and shut the hidden door before making his way out of the basement. He weaved his way through the maze of hallways that made up the homeless shelter, no longer bothering to make sure that he stayed out of sight, knowing that Irena was down in the abandoned bomb shelter. When he exited the cafeteria and turned into the corridor that led back to the main entrance of the shelter, he crashed headlong into McGee, sending them both into the ground.

"Fuck," McGee cursed uncharacteristically, sitting up quickly. He opened his mouth to say more, but when Sam pushed himself off of the ground and looked at him, an odd smirk formed on his lips. "Hello, Sam."

"Uh, hi?" He arched an eyebrow at the NCIS agent as he stood up. He offered a hand to help McGee to his feet, but he ignored it, choosing to stand on his own. "I found where she's keeping Tony and Ziva. There's an old basement on the other side of the shelter, inside of the basement is a secret door. I heard their voices. They're down there."

"Oh?" McGee asked, tilting his head. "Fantastic. Let's go get the others so we can rescue them, then."

Something in McGee's voice bothered him, but he decided not to dwell on it, instead rushing towards the exit. "Alright, good, let's do this."

* * *

Gibbs heard Dean breathe a sigh of relief next to him. He looked out the passenger side window and he saw Sam and McGee come out of the front door of the shelter. Gibbs relaxed visibly. He had trusted McGee not to get himself killed in there, of course, but they were dealing with something unpredictable, something that the young man had never witnessed before. For McGee, a man of science, this had to be completely overwhelming.

He watched as Sam hurried up to the MCRT van, McGee trailing close behind. Sam threw open the backdoors of the van and entered. "We found them."

"Where?" Dean asked, already out of the passenger seat. Gibbs jumped up as well, turning to face Sam and McGee.

"Secret door inside a disused basement. I heard their voices from the top of the stairwell that leads down there. We need to hurry, it doesn't sound like she plans on keeping them alive for long." Gibbs stomach did an involuntary flip at Sam's words. What did the witch plan on doing with Tony and Ziva?

"What the hell are we waiting for, then? Let's gear up and get to rescuing," Dean said, brushing past his brother and McGee.

McGee's eyes followed Dean's movements with mild interest. Something was definitely going on with McGee. Gibbs had always been able to tell a lot about a person from their eyes. McGee had also never been an expert in hiding how he was feeling. Throughout the five years that McGee had been on the team, Gibbs had read every emotion in the book from his eyes - anxiety, fear, sorrow, anger, happiness, embarrassment, jealousy - he'd seen everything a man could feel in McGee's bright green eyes at one point or the other.

Never once had he seen the look they held now.

They were... empty. Cold. Maybe even a little bit smug. "You alright, Tim?" Gibbs asked as he tailed Dean and Sam out of the MCRT van and over to the trunk of the Impala.

McGee looked at him. He gave him a mirthless smile. "I'm fine. I'm just worried about the others."

"Uh-huh," he said slowly, letting his suspicion shine through. Before he could push further, Dean caught his attention.

"Gibbs," he handed him a flask. "Holy water. Just in case. She's human, so your SIG should work fine on her. You still got the sawed-off with the rock salt bullets with you?" Gibbs nodded. "Good." Dean grabbed an anti-possession necklace like the one he had given him earlier and tossed it to McGee, who caught it deftly. "This won't keep Orochi out, but if she's got anymore of the black-eyed bastards in there, this'll keep them from wearing you to the prom."

"Thanks," McGee said, sliding it over his neck.

"Okay. Sammy, you lead the way," Dean said grabbing the knife with the strange runes on it and storing it in his pocket. Sam nodded, hurrying back towards the door. Gibbs put his hand on the butt of his SIG Sauer, determination flaring in his chest. It was time to get his agents back.

* * *

"Now I'm really starting to get _Hocus Pocus_ flashbacks," Tony whispered to Ziva as they watched Irena turn and stroll to the other side of her little witch den, grabbing some jar of mysterious ick from the wall and pouring it into a small cauldron she had. She lit a fire underneath it, and Tony thought he smelled the scent of burning hair. He shuddered at the odor.

"Tony, with how high the chances are of the two of us being brutally tortured and murdered are right now, is it really the time for movie references?" Ziva asked in a tight whisper. She had been attempting to saw through the thick ropes that were binding them, but from what Tony could see, she was so far having no luck. That combined with the witch's threats and her inability to move had Ziva on the edge of a severe Mossad rage fit.

"It's always the time for movie references. You know, she kind of looks like Sarah Jessica Parker, if you squint and tilt your head to the side." He then preceded to do so, and Ziva let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes.

"You've creaked."

"Cracked," he corrected automatically. "Now we just need a bigger cauldron and a McGee look-alike with a British accent..." he trailed off as Irena turned around, abandoning her mixture and walking back towards them. She clasped her hands behind her back, a pair of pliers held between them, looking over the two of them. She was dressed in a white blouse and neatly pressed dark slacks. She had long blonde hair that hung slightly past her shoulders, and ice blue eyes that didn't hold an ounce of warmth. Admittedly, she was kind of scary, and he wasn't a man who was easily scared.

Irena watched Ziva for a long moment before strolling around to the back of her chair and directing her eyes to Ziva's bound hands. She clucked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval. "Trying to escape I see. We can't have that, now can we?"

"Right. Sorry. We're supposed to just be good little rats in the cage, right?" Tony asked, not liking the idea of the crazy bitch being anywhere near his partner.

"Quiet," she said, throwing a vicious glare his way. She knelt down behind Ziva's hands, and he heard Ziva's breath quicken.

" _What is she doing_?" Ziva mouthed. He shook his head, trying to communicate that he didn't know.

"If you're going to try to escape, then I'll just have to take away your last weapon," she told her in a saccharinely sweet voice. She grabbed a hold of Ziva's index finger, pliers held in her other hand. "These will just have to go. This is lucky, really, I've been needing more fingernails. When they're removed while the owner is still alive, they are even more potent."

"No!" Ziva burst out, but it was too late. A second later, Irena was holding Ziva's bloody fingernail in the palm of her hand, and Ziva let out a strangled growl of agony, throwing her head back.

"Get away from her!" Tony yelled, straining against his bonds. "Don't touch her!"

"There is not much you can do to stop me, now is there?" Irena responded shortly, moving on to Ziva's middle finger.

"Stop! Stop!" He knew it was stupid, but a part of him hoped that if he was loud enough, she'd listen to him.

She ripped the next nail out. This time, Ziva wasn't able to hold back a scream. Tony's felt a twisting in his chest as he saw Ziva bite down on her lip so hard that she drew blood.

"STOP!" he screamed again, even though he knew it was in vain.


	10. Malleus Maleficarum

"STOP!"

The witch latched the pliers onto the fingernail of Ziva's ring finger. Before Irena could rip out the next nail, however, the sound of thundering footsteps coming down the staircase drew her attention away. Tony turned his head as much as he could, and was filled with blissful relief when he saw Dean, Sam, Gibbs and McGee racing towards them.

The witch's eyes widened in shock as Gibbs, without hesitation, tackled her to the ground. Sam went to Tony and McGee to Ziva, both intending to free them. "Boss! Thank God you're here."

"Wouldn't miss this, DiNozzo," he said, trying to wrestle handcuffs onto Irena. However, as soon as the cuffs touched her skin, they melted off, as if her skin had somehow liquefied them.

"Pyrokinetic. Awesome," Dean said, withdrawing a strange knife from his jacket. Sam finished untying Tony, and he jumped up just in time to see Irena blast Gibbs backwards with a fireball. Tony darted towards his boss, hoping that he hadn't been injured badly by the flames.

Ziva was released a second later by McGee. Dean launched at Irena with the knife, but she dodged nimbly before appearing behind him. When he turned, she hooked her hands around his neck, trying to strangle him. Sam ripped out a pistol and pointed it at her, but she had Dean in front of her, and the younger Winchester didn't seem to want to risk hitting his brother. Ziva and McGee withdrew their SIGs and pointed them at Irena as well. Dean struggled against her iron grip. _Damn, she must be strong._

"Let him go!" Sam ordered. The witch paid him no heed.

Tony stooped down next to Gibbs. The front of his jacket was badly singed and he could smell burning hair, but other than that the older agent seemed okay. He coughed, and Tony put a hand on his shoulder. "Alright, boss?" Tony heard a scream from behind him, and he turned to see Irena fall away from Dean, hitting the floor with a hard thud. He saw that Dean's knife was sticking out of her stomach. She writhed on the floor as a pool of blood formed steadily around her.

Dean backed up, massaging his throat. "Christ," he managed. "She's tougher than she looks." McGee lowered his weapon, but Ziva and Sam stepped forward, guns still trained on Irena, who was now quickly bleeding to death on the floor. Tony helped Gibbs to his feet. 

Irena coughed, blood spattering her lips. Then, to Tony's surprise, she laughed. It was high. Pure. Terrifying. "You can't win this."

"Well, we'd be a lot more likely to win if you used your dying breath to tell us how to take out Orochi. Do one last good deed to make up for what an evil bitch you are," Dean said, leaning down to yank his knife out of her stomach. She let out a whimper, but she was still smiling.

"Fools," she said. "You think you've defeated me... defeated _him_ …"

"Well sweetheart," Tony said, walking towards the others with Gibbs at his side. "You're the one who's bleeding out on the floor, so I'd say... yeah."

She grinned up at him, a maniacal glint in her eye, her teeth dark red with blood. "Oh, Orochi..." she called in a sing-song voice. "You can come out now."

"It's about time," Tony heard McGee say from behind him. Tony, Gibbs, Sam, Dean and Ziva turned as one to look at him. When he saw the smirk on McGee's face and the dead look in his eyes, he felt his blood freeze. McGee cracked his neck loudly, then blinked. When he opened his eyes, they were as black as night. "Let the fun begin."

_No. Please, God, no._

In a flash, Gibbs was flung into the wall, his head cracking against it as he let out a strangled exclamation. Dean jumped at McGee, knife in hand, but McGee dodged nimbly, moving faster than any human being should've been able to. A second later, Dean had a gash across his face and was on the other side of the room, curled up in a ball.

"CASTIEL!" Dean screamed. McGee snorted.

"Don't waste your breath, Winchester. Irena covered the shelter in Enochian sigils. Your little tree-topper isn't getting anywhere near this place." Tony couldn't keep up with what was going on, everything was happening too fast.

He heard Sam and Ziva scream and he thought he saw them being thrown into walls as well before he felt a well-aimed and sharp kick to his stomach, and he collapsed to his knees with a groan. Next, another kick landed on his jaw with a _crack_ , then he heard the sound of McGee laughing. Why was he laughing?

"What's wrong, DiNozzo?" McGee asked, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and raising him several inches off of the floor, a feral grin on his face. "Wouldn't want to ruin that pretty smile, now would we?"

"McGee..." he whispered. It was all he could manage.

"Timothy McGee is not available to take your call right now. Please leave a message after the beep," McGee said, dragging Tony forward so their faces were only an inch apart. "It's so nice to meet you, DiNozzo. The one NCIS agent I haven't managed to get my claws on. Normally I'd give you a little love bite, too, but... I think I'd enjoy killing you much more."

Tony couldn't respond, because nothing made sense. He was looking at McGee. He was feeling McGee's hands, he was hearing McGee's voice, he was smelling McGee's way-too-expensive cologne, but it _wasn't him._

"Moron," McGee scoffed. He forced him painfully into the concrete wall. He tried to struggle against him, but he was too damn strong. Tony attempted to go for his SIG, but McGee grabbed it, able to pin him to the wall easily with one hand. He looked at it with mild interest. "You really aren't too sharp, are you? I'm a demon; your stupid little human toys aren't going to work on me."

He whipped Tony in the face hard, and he saw stars in his eyes as McGee released him and he slid to the floor with a groan. He looked up in time to see McGee disassemble his weapon. He tossed away the remains with a smug chuckle.

Tony attempted to get to his feet. He'd fight him hand to hand if he had to; he wasn't about to die in the basement of a homeless shelter at the hands of one of his closest friends. He'd knock McGee out, or something. They'd figure out a way to get Orochi out of him. They had to.

McGee punched him hard in the face. Once. Twice. Three times. He felt hot blood trickling from his nose and splitting pain. McGee finished by grabbing his hair roughly and forcing his head back. With a sickening smile, he bashed Tony's head against the wall again, ending with another forceful kick to the stomach. The pain was overwhelming, and he could barely breathe.

Tony watched as Dean stumbled forward, a dark bruise forming on his forehead, knife still clutched in his hand. McGee knew he was coming, however, and turned in time to intercept the knife, land an uppercut on Dean, and disarm him. McGee then picked him up and threw him into the chair that Ziva had been tied to, crushing it to pieces. Tony looked up, and saw that Gibbs appeared to be unconscious. Sam and Ziva were struggling to their feet.

McGee picked Dean back up and threw him into Sam, who was coming back towards him. He then lunged forward, grabbing Ziva by the arm and dragging her forward. He stood behind her, one arm around her neck in a headlock. He covered her mouth with his hand. He noticed that McGee's fingernails had extended in length, so that they more closely resembled claws. Behind him, Dean and Sam were both lifted up and pinned to the wall.

Ziva struggled valiantly against McGee, landing a hard elbow into his solar plexus and then stomping hard on his foot, but he was completely unfazed. He just laughed before leaning his mouth down to Ziva's ear. "Keep at it, missy, and I'll slit open your throat and paint the room with your blood."

She seemed to buy his threat, as she stopped struggling and remained still in his grasp. McGee bit at the edge of Ziva's ear, and she shuddered. Tony felt sick to his stomach. "Stop!" He finally managed to find his voice. "Come on, McGee, I know you're in there, you've got to stop this!"

McGee let out a loud laugh. "McGee's checked out, DiNozzo. He's not strong enough to fight me. No one is. And now I get to play with you... maybe I'll leave you alive. Now that I think about it, it would be just as fun to force you to watch me torture your friends and then rip their bodies to shreds so I can take their souls. Then I'd kill you, and you would die knowing that you couldn't save them, and you couldn't save the world. You can't save anyone."

"Tony!" Dean yelled in a ragged voice from across the room. "The knife!"

Tony looked down, and he saw that Dean's knife was discarded about two feet away from him. Tony looked between the knife and McGee.

"It kills demons!" Sam provided from next to his brother.

"Go ahead, DiNozzo," McGee said, digging his claws into Ziva's cheek. She made a sound of pained protest as several droplets of blood trailed down her face. "Stab me, as if you actually could."

"You've got to stop him!" Dean shouted.

"He won't do a thing!" McGee yelled back, turning to look at Dean for a brief second before his pitch black eyes turned back to Tony. He grinned. "I can do anything I want to her, and you won't stop me..." He put his hand on her hip, digging in his claws deeply and then dragging them upwards. She shouted into the hand that covered her mouth. He left four jagged, dark red lines leading from her hip to just below her midriff.

"IT'S NOT MCGEE! YOU'VE GOT TO DO IT!" Dean exclaimed, jerking his head towards the knife.

"McGee..." Tony whispered, looking up at his friend. "Don't do this. I know you're in there. I need you to fight."

"This isn't a damn movie, you've got to stop him! DO IT!" Dean tacked this onto the end of Tony's quiet plea.

Tony still couldn't move. He knew that he needed to heed Dean's word; he knew that he was right. He knew that it was his only option. Deep down, he knew that. But he felt frozen in place, frozen to the ground. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think.

McGee snickered. "Love - that's what makes you humans so weak. This kid's mind is one big, sad, sappy Dear Diary, and I can see that you love him, I can see that you love her... and that love is why you're going to watch both of them die." He pulled Ziva tighter to him, leaning down so that his teeth were an inch from her throat. "You don't have the power to hurt me," he said, his voice deceptively soft.

_He's hurting Ziva. McGee would never hurt Ziva. This isn't McGee. It's not McGee. You've got to stop him from hurting anyone else._ His mind finally caught up to what was happening. The shock faded, and he looked into the eyes of the thing in front of him, and it finally registered.

_He is the enemy._

Tony picked up the knife, wrapping his hand around the hilt. It was warm from where Dean had held it. He gulped, feeling as though the contents of his stomach were going to spill. _"...we either a) let Gibbs, McGee, Sam and Dean get turned into soul food by the Orochi, or b) we kill one of them while the Orochi is in their bodies..."_

Why did it have to come to this?

Orochi gave him a fake pout face. "You wouldn't hurt me, would you Tony? I'm your Probie, remember?" He blinked his eyes, and they turned back to the familiar green that he was used to. The familiar green he'd looked into everyday for over five years.

But even if he was wearing McGee, even if everything about him was McGee, it _wasn't_ McGee, and those eyes were cold. Those eyes were dead.

"I'm sorry, Tim," he whispered, so quietly that he wasn't even sure if anyone heard him.

Bracing his battered body for the incoming pain, he launched up and barreled towards Orochi with the knife held aloft in his hand. The demon seemed so surprised that Tony had actually moved that he didn't have time to evade him. The senior field agent crashed into Orochi, and he managed to separate him from Ziva, knocking her to the ground and giving Tony just enough time to work the knife between his ribs and into his heart. Orochi let out a strangled cough as the blade sank in, blood spattering Tony's face. Some kind of electricity sparked from the knife, and he could smell burning flesh.

Orochi - or was it McGee? - screamed.

He could feel his friend's heart beating through the hilt of the knife. It went from fast... to slow... to slower...

"MCGEE!" Ziva shouted from beside him.

He looked into McGee's eyes, and Tony felt hot tears burning in his own. His vision swam as he watched the life leave his friend, as he grew still underneath him, as his skin turned cold and pale. When McGee's heart beat its last beat, he removed the knife, and he caught McGee's body before it could fall to the ground. However, Tony felt that his knees couldn't support him, and he fell to the ground, letting the knife fall to the side as he cradled the other agent in his arms. He heard the Winchesters breathe sighs of relief as they were released from their telekinetic bonds.

"No," he heard Ziva say from beside him, her voice cracking halfway through the word. She was on all fours next to him, and she laid her hand on McGee's heart, blood soaking her hand. "No, no, no," she repeated, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't know whom specifically he was apologizing too. McGee. Ziva. Gibbs. The universe. God. McGee's gaze was fixed into the distance, and it hit him that the young man would never look at anything ever again. He'd never speak again. Never move again. Tony realized he would never have to come up with another McNickname for him, and for some reason, that's what sent the tears spilling from his eyes and down his cheeks.

Ziva let out a sob, and she laid her head on McGee's chest, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his stomach. He'd never seen her this affected by anything. He'd never seen her break before.

"You did the right thing," he heard Dean say. He turned his head slightly, still holding McGee, and looked to see Dean and Sam standing above him, looking solemn. He wondered if they'd seen something like this before. By the looks on their faces, he would guess that they had. Hell, they'd probably seen something much worse than this.

However, for Tony, this was the hardest thing he had ever had to do, and in a life that had been fraught with tragedy after tragedy, this ranked up there with the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

"Really?" Tony asked weakly. "Because it doesn't feel like it." It was a struggle to keep his voice steady. "It feels like I just killed my best friend."

"McGee was dead the second that Orochi possessed him," Sam explained gently. "You freed him. You saved his soul from being stolen by that thing."

"You pretty much saved the world too, if that's any consolation."

Honestly, at that moment, it wasn't. It wasn't a consolation at all. Nothing was. Because all he could register was that McGee was dead by his hand, and everything was so incredibly wrong.

He realized with a jolt that he would have to tell Abby that McGee was dead. And McGee's family. He'd never even met his mother and father, just his sister. What was he supposed to tell them? " _Hi, I'm Anthony DiNozzo - I was friends with your son. He's dead. Oh, and I killed him, too. Sorry. Apocalypse needed stopping. Collateral damage, you know_?"

He was interrupted from his thoughts by McGee's body twitching in his arms. He froze instantly, and Ziva withdrew, staring at their friend's corpse. They couldn't have imagined that.

McGee's mouth opened, and a tornado of thick, acrid black smoke escaped. It poured out in a long stream, filling up the entire ceiling like an enormous storm cloud. The four of them looked up in horror.

"Oh, shit," Dean cursed.

Once the black smoke had gathered, it redirected itself towards Gibbs, who was still slumped over on the other side of the room, knocked out cold. Tony released McGee's body, and he and Ziva immediately jumped to their feet.

"NO!" they shouted in unison.

The smoke reached Gibbs, and they all knew that it was too late.


	11. Narrative of Soul Against Soul

The smoke cleared after a few moments, and Dean watched as Gibbs rose to his feet, head tilted slightly to the side as he looked over the four of them, his eyes finally landing on McGee's body. He quirked an eyebrow up. "Huh. What a shame. Looks like he wasn't strong enough." Dean felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Orochi was inside of Gibbs, there was absolutely no doubt.

"This is bad," Dean said. Next to him, Tony and Ziva both looked horrified.

"No," Tony burst out, stumbling to his feet. "No, I killed you. I just killed you!"

"Correction," Orochi replied. "You killed McGee. I'm not your average demon, kid. That knife's a neat trick, sure, but it's not enough to get rid of me. All I have to do is smoke out and I'm right as rain." He took a few steps forward. "However, you did slow down my plans, and for that, I'm going to have to make you pay."

The demon raised his hand, but before he could blast the four of them back with a wall of kinetic energy, there was the sound of rustling feathers and Cas appeared behind Orochi. Before he even had a chance to turn, Cas had a burlap sack inscribed with a devil's trap cinched around his neck. In a flash, Orochi was on the ground with Castiel's knee in his back. Cas was fitting handcuffs around his wrists, but they weren't normal handcuffs. They were thick. Iron, with demon trapping sigils engraved on them. Dean had never seen anything like them before.

"Cas?" Sam exclaimed.

"Where have you been? We sure as hell could've used you back there when we were fighting for our lives!" Dean said, his tone angry and accusatory. Orochi struggled underneath Castiel, but was unsuccessful, even though it appeared that the angel was having one hell of a time holding him down.

"I apologize. I have been beset by demons since the moment I left NCIS headquarters yesterday and have been occupied trying to fend them off. Not to mention that this building was covered in Enochian sigils. I was only able to get in because the witch made a minor error that I was able to exploit in order to bypass them," Cas explained. He grabbed the bag that surrounded Orochi's head and used it to bang his skull against the floor about a dozen times. He grew still, and Castiel sighed, rising to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Dean asked, brow furrowed in concern. Dean walked towards Cas, halting a short distance away from him.

"I am unharmed," Cas replied.

He glanced back at Tony and Ziva, who were taciturn and silent now that the danger had passed. Tony was staring down at his hands, which were covered in McGee's blood. He looked like he was going to be sick. He and Sam exchanged a look, and his little brother nodded.

"Can we take this outside?" he asked. Cas nodded, gripping Dean's arm and transporting the two of them. In a blink, they were in front of the Impala. "Cas... we don't have a clue how to get rid of this thing. We're in dire straits. If we don't figure out how to exorcise this son of a bitch from Gibbs, I don't know what we're going to do. Obviously killing the host doesn't get rid of the damn thing," he shared his worries. He really didn't want to see the old man's body and soul get turned into mince meat by that black-eyed bastard.

"That much, I have discovered. I have a place that we can take him. Unfortunately, I am too weak to transport all of us there, so you will have to drive. I can, however, escort Orochi there. It's an abandoned Catholic church about fifteen miles north of the city of Norfolk. I can give you further directions if you need them. I will explain more once you arrive there."

Finally, something good. But he wasn't liking how vague Cas was being about this. "Are we talking a ritual, some special kind of exorcism? A weapon? What?"

"A mixture of the three," Castiel replied cryptically. "As I said, once you arrive, I will explain further. Now, I need to retrieve Orochi and go. I will meet you there." Before Cas could disappear, Dean launched out a hand and grabbed the sleeve of his trench coat.

"Wait," he said. "What about McGee?"

Castiel shook his head solemnly. "I can't bring him back, Dean. I am not strong enough. You know that being cut off from Heaven has weakened my Grace, and even if I was at my strongest, I cannot just indiscriminately reanimate the dead. You were a special case."

"I know man, I know," Dean responded, frowning. "But DiNozzo, he looks like he's going to break. I don't know how tight they were, but if his reaction's any indication, I'd say they were like... like brothers." Honestly, Tony and McGee kind of reminded him of himself and Sam. He imagined himself in Tony's place, being faced with the choice that Tony had been faced with, and he was positive that he would never have been able to do that to Sam.

"I'm sorry, Dean. There's nothing I can do. If it makes any difference, his soul is in Heaven now. He was a good man," Cas informed him. That didn't surprise him. McGee had seemed like a good guy. A little nerdy, but good nonetheless.

"There's nothing we can do for them?" Dean asked. "Nothing?"

"The best we can do for them now is attempt to save Gibbs from the same fate," Cas said. Dean released his arm and nodded dimly.

"You're right," he said. "Okay. Go do your thing. I'll see you at the church."

"I will tell the others to come outside," Cas replied.

"Hey... one last thing," Dean said. Something had been bothering him since Cas had appeared down in autopsy to tell them about Orochi.

"Yes? What is it?" Cas asked, tilting his head in that bird-like way of his.

"Back at NCIS... you said that this was 'fate' ordained by 'Your Father'," he said. "Cas, is the Big Man Upstairs talking to you again?" God had been entirely silent since He had teleported them to the plane after Sam had unintentionally raised Lucifer, and Dean was beginning to wonder if He even cared if the apocalypse happened or not.

Castiel looked at Dean for a moment before his lips slowly lifted into a soft smile. He was surprised - Cas was a pretty stoic guy. He'd only seen him smile once, maybe twice before now. Dean blinked, and Cas was gone.

"Guess that's my answer," Dean sighed, sagging against the hood of the Impala, exhaustion washing over him. His entire body felt like one big bruise. The fight with Orochi and Irena had been difficult, but the NCIS agents had put up a valiant fight. He blearily thought in the back of his mind that they wouldn't be bad hunters.

He waited there for a few minutes in the early afternoon sunlight for the others to come out. The front door of the shelter opened, revealing Sam, Ziva, and Tony. Sam was supporting Tony, who was looking like absolute hell. He had deep bruises already forming on his jaw, and he remembered hearing a resounding crack when McGee had kicked him. It was probably fractured. There was also heavy bruising on his right cheek. His left eye was blackened, and on top of all of that, his nose was definitely broken and streaming blood.

Thank God they had a field surgeon kit in the back of the Impala. They'd have to work on the two of them when they arrived at the church Cas had mentioned. "You alright, DiNozzo?" Dean asked as they reached the car. Tony just looked blankly at Dean, seeming to barely register his presence.

"No. No, he is not," Ziva said, speaking for him.

"Cas told us what's going on," Sam said. His eyes wandered to Tony for a moment. "He took McGee's body and brought him to autopsy. Tony... he didn't want to leave him there."

Tony remained silent. Sam helped him into the back seat of the Impala. They were just going to have to leave the MCRT van here, for now. They would come back and retrieve it if they all managed to live through the next couple of days. Ziva stepped around the car and seated herself next to Tony. Ziva needed medical attention as well. She was cradling one of her hands, and he was horrified to see that she was missing two fingernails, not to mention the claw marks on her hip and face from Orochi.

He wasn't feeling too hot himself, but he was pretty sure he wasn't bleeding from anywhere, and that in and of itself was a miracle. He opened the driver's door and seated himself, with Sam sliding into the passenger's seat. "Where to?" his brother asked in a low voice.

"A church on the Virginia coast, fifteen miles north of Norfolk," Dean told him, starting the engine. "He tell you anything?"

"Sort of. He pretty much just grabbed McGee and Gibbs, told the three of us to meet you here, and then disappeared. You know. Typical Cas. Do you have any idea what he's planning for us to do?"

"No clue," he said. "I'll guess we just have to trust him." If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have liked the idea, but Cas had dragged him out of Hell, had rebelled against the other angels and Heaven for him. If he could trust anyone outside of Sam and Bobby, it was Castiel.

"Castiel is an angel," Ziva said quietly from the back seat. He looked at her in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glazed with tears that she wouldn't let fall. She had her hand overtop of Tony's. The agent in question was staring down at his lap, his chin touching his chest. "Can he bring back the dead?"

Dean looked sideways at Sam, and he could see the compassion in his brother's eyes. This stuff always hit Sammy hard. Not that it didn't hit Dean hard, but he was better at covering it than his younger sibling.

"No," Dean said firmly, but not without sympathy in his voice. "No, he can't."

After that, Ziva fell silent. Dean jumped slightly when he heard the _Magnum PI_ theme blasting in the back seat, and he saw Tony remove his phone from his pocket and stare down at it uncomprehendingly. He must've left it there the day before, otherwise Orochi's presence would've fried it. He showed the screen to Ziva, and she promptly took the phone from him.

"Ducky?"

* * *

Ducky plucked the last remains of Lance Corporal Belisarius's salvageable liver, dropping it onto a nearby tray. "My dear fellow, I do apologize. This is a death that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. Trust me when I say, however, that Gibbs's team and the Winchesters will do everything in their power to dispose of Orochi and avenge your untimely demise."

"Doctor," he heard a gravelly voice from behind him. He quickly identified it as the angel from earlier, Castiel. He turned to face him, and was shocked by what he saw. Castiel was standing there, stiff as a board, with McGee's limp body in his arms. The agent's pallor and stillness told him a story that he didn't want to believe.

_Dear God. Not again._

"Timothy..." he said, stepping forward to examine the agent. There was a blossom of blood on the front of his shirt, right where his heart was. "My God, who did this to him?" Ducky asked, looking up at Castiel.

"Agent DiNozzo," Castiel responded in a monotone. Ducky reeled backwards in shock.

"You're telling me that _Anthony_ did this to him?"

"Orochi possessed Timmy. Agent DiNozzo stabbed him with a demon-killing knife, because he was under the impression that killing him would also kill the Orochi. Unfortunately, he was mistaken." He proffered McGee's body to Ducky. "I thought this would be the proper place to take him. I am sorry for your loss."

Ducky shook his head. "This can't be."

Castiel's blue eyes stared at him intensely, and he thought he detected a modicum of sympathy. "Should I set him on the vacant table?"

Ducky nodded dimly. "Yes... yes. Please." He stripped off his latex gloves he had used during the Lance Corporal's autopsy and replaced them with a new pair. He had hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't have to do this again. He had already had to autopsy Kate and Jenny, why did he once again find himself doing his work on a friend?

Castiel carefully laid McGee's body down on the steel table. It never ceased to amaze him how the dead could look so peaceful. Even now, the young man looked like he was just sleeping. Ducky laid a hand on his shoulder, and he could feel the coolness of him through his jacket. No, he was not sleeping.

Timothy McGee was dead.

"Thank you for bringing him here, Castiel," Ducky said softly, looking back at the angel. "But I must ask - is there not something you can do for him? You are an angel, surely..."

Castiel frowned deeply. "I am currently... cut off from Heaven. As a result, my Grace has been weakened. I cannot raise the dead."

Ducky nodded solemnly. "I understand. What of the others? Are they-" before he could finish, he heard the flutter of wings, and he turned and saw that Castiel was nowhere in sight.

He sighed heavily. He didn't like not knowing whether Jethro, Anthony and Ziva were alright. Before starting McGee's autopsy, he needed to know whether to expect another body to be delivered. He dialed Jethro's number. No answer. Not a good sign. He then tried Anthony's instead. After it rang three times, the phone was picked up, but it was not Anthony on the other end.

"Ducky?" It was Ziva.

"I want you to explain to me what happened to him."

And so she did. She gave him an account of all that had happened since they had left NCIS the day before, including McGee's possession, subsequent death, and then Jethro's possession by the Orochi. She explained that Castiel may have a way to save him yet, and that was really the only solace he could take from the phone call.

"Ducky, we are about to head out of service range. I am going to have to let you go."

"Before you go..." He ran a hand through his thinning hair. "What am I to tell Abigail?"

"Tell her nothing," Ziva said sharply. "I do not want Abby to know what has happened until we are sure of whether or not Gibbs will..." she let out a shaky breath. "We will inform her of all that's happened once we are more certain of Gibbs's condition. Please do not let her in autopsy, Ducky. She does not need to see McGee like this."

"I understand. Ziva, please, be care-" The phone began to crackle loudly on the other end. "Be careful!" he said loudly, hoping that she could still hear him.

The other end of the line went dead. Ducky set his phone down on his desk before looking back at the dead agent on his table.

"I am so sorry, Timothy..."

* * *

Four and a half hours later, just as the sun was beginning to inch its way towards the horizon, they pulled off into the patch of dirt that Tony supposed was the parking lot of the abandoned and dilapidated chapel. The ride up the Virginia coast had been the longest of his entire life, the minutes dragging by like years. All he could see were McGee's eyes as he'd killed him. All he could feel was the blood on his hands. All he could hear were McGee's screams. God, what had he done? It still hadn't sunk in. He wasn't sure if it ever would.

Dean shut off the Impala, looking back at him with a surprising amount of concern for someone who had only known him for a little over twenty-four hours. The four of them exited the car. Dean glanced around, eyes grazing over the exterior of the chapel. It was entitled the First Catholic Church of Callensie, a town that he could only assume no longer existed.

"Cas?" Dean called. A second later, the angel appeared in front of him, trench coat billowing in the breeze rolling in from the shore. "Where's Orochi?"

"Inside the sanctuary," Castiel said. "I have him bound inside of a devil's trap."

"What's the next step, then?" Sam inquired.

Castiel’s piercing blue eyes turned to Tony. "It depends on how far he is willing to go to save him."


	12. In Medias Res

"How far I'm willing to go?" Tony echoed, speaking for one of the first times since they'd left Anacostia. "What do you mean?"

"I have found a way to dispose of Orochi and exorcise him from Gibbs," Castiel shared. "The ritual involved is complex, however. It will take time, and I can make no guarantees. Also... it requires the purified blood of a righteous man."

"Then what does DiNozzo have to do with it?" Dean asked. "I mean, I'm the Heavenly Vessel, right?" He gestured to himself. "Righteous as they come."

"Yes, and under normal circumstances, you would be the one to perform the ritual to send the Orochi demon back to Hell, but his venom has tainted your blood," Castiel replied. "Sam's as well. And Agent David is female, rendering her blood unusable."

Tony was fairly sure he heard Ziva mutter something about sexism under her breath.

"So, who does that leave?" Tony asked, not sure if he was understanding where this was going. Castiel couldn't be suggesting what he thought he was...

"That leaves you," Castiel responded evenly.

"Me? Righteous?" Tony echoed. "Listen, Castiel, the sentiment is nice, but I'm not exactly a saint. I mean, the number of girls alone probably disqualifies me-"

"On the contrary," Castiel interrupted him. "Dean, for instance, is quite promiscuous-"

"Hey!" Dean cried out, indignant. Castiel continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"-but he is still considered to be good. Being an angel, my judgment is absolute. I can see you for what you truly are." Castiel's stark blue eyes stared at him, and Tony had to suppress a shiver. When the angel looked at him, it almost felt like he was looking _into_ him. "You are a righteous man, Anthony DiNozzo."

He bit the inside of his lip. That was the last thing he expected to hear. He sure as hell didn't feel righteous.

_After all, what kind of righteous man kills his best friend?_ he thought darkly.

At least this meant that he could help Gibbs, he supposed. "What do I have to do then, if I'm really as high and holy as you think I am?"

Castiel reached into his pocket and withdrew a clear box, tossing it to Tony. He opened it up, and inside were eight syringes. He shuddered in spite of himself. He wasn't a big fan of needles, not after his experience with the plague.

"You'll have to inject Orochi every hour for the next eight hours. What makes the Orochi so unique as a demon is that his host is tainted by his presence. Gibbs still has the venom inside of him from their previous encounter, along with Orochi's own blood coursing through him now. There has to be something to counter his influence, and that will be your blood, which is still entirely human. This is all so that once Orochi is exorcised, there will still be something left of Gibbs, though I can't make that a full guarantee."

"Wait," Ziva said. "Tony could do this ritual, and Gibbs could still die?"

Castiel nodded. "That is correct, though if it's any comfort, his soul and body would be fine. As I said, this is a unique incident. Previously, the Orochi was killed when it was in its greater form. We can't allow that to happen, obviously, as that would kill Sam and Dean. Gibbs as well," he added as an afterthought. "Once he's been prepared with the injections, you will have to perform an exorcism." He removed a slip of paper from his pocket and passed it to Tony.

"Uh, Castiel," Tony said, reading over the foreign words. "I hate to break it to you, but I don't speak Latin."

"That doesn't matter. I will teach you the correct pronunciation," Castiel said. "The exorcism must be performed while you carve this Enochian sigil into his chest with a blade soaked with your own blood." Castiel once again reached into the pocket of his trench coat and handed him another slip of paper, a strange symbol written on it. Squiggly lines around a triangle, basically.

_Enochian? I've never even heard of that. I wonder if Ziva speaks it._

"Is there anything you don't have in there, Cas?" Dean asked.

"The ritual is complicated. This is why I have been mostly absent for the past two days," Castiel responded flatly before returning his attention to Tony. "You'll need to use Sam and Dean's demon-killing knife to draw the sigil on him. Then, Orochi will be dispelled into an adjacent devil's trap that I have already drawn. He will take his lesser form, the one that attacked all of you. This is where I will come into play."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"Once I have recovered from the amount of Grace I have exerted since we discovered Orochi, I will be traveling to Japan. I need to secure the Kusunagi, the sword that was pulled from Orochi's corpse thousands of years ago. It's currently in the possession of the sun god, Ameterasu."

"Yeah, the lore on Orochi mentioned Ame-whatever. She's got the Kusunagi?" Dean said, crossing his arms, acting as if Castiel hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

"Yes, she-"

"Whoa, wait, back-up," Tony said, holding up a hand. "Gods? I mean, I didn't think the lore was a hundred percent or anything. There are _gods_ out there? Not just one, no Big Guy Upstairs?" He looked to Castiel. "I thought you were an angel of the Lord!"

"The other gods on earth are no longer as relevant, as their flocks have essentially vanished. They're powerful, yes, but the God that I serve, the Judeo-Christian God, reigns superior," Castiel explained. "Even if He has been somewhat... quiet, of late."

"Great, okay," Tony said, running a hand through his hair. "Is there anything that _isn't_ real?"

"Well," Dean said, after thinking for a moment. "Big Foot's fake, if that's any consolation."

"Aliens too, as far as we can tell," Sam added helpfully. Tony sighed.

"I miss normal," he said truthfully. Human monsters were so much easier to fight. "So you get the sword, and then what?"

"Then I will return here with the blade. Once Orochi is exorcised from Gibbs, I will slay his lesser form with the Kusunagi. Then, with luck, this will all be over. Orochi will be sent back to Hell and will remain there until the time that he is summoned again - which hopefully will not be during any of your lifetimes," Castiel said.

"Will this have any lasting effect on Tony?" Ziva asked worriedly.

Tony turned to look at her. He'd been able to tell after they'd departed DC that she was holding it together purely for his sake. He was broken, and she felt like she didn't have the right to fall to pieces alongside him. He'd seen the tears brimming in her eyes. He'd heard her scream McGee's name. On the inside, Ziva was going through almost as much crap as he was. The only difference was that he'd been the one that knifed their fellow team member, not her.

"The danger posed to him will be more immediate," Castiel said. "Obviously the amount of blood he will lose will weaken him. There's also the chance that Orochi will somehow gain the upper hand in the situation, if he could somehow break through the devil's trap. Unlikely as that is, it wouldn't be wise to rule out the possibility. Also, Tony will have to remain inside the church while this goes on. The giver of the blood must remain on hallowed ground."

"You're saying the rest of us just sit around with our thumbs up our asses while DiNozzo goes in and turns himself into a pin cushion?" Dean asked, staring at the angel with a certain amount of incredulity.

"I see no reason why you would need to insert your-"

"It's an expression!" Dean and Sam chorused before Castiel could finish. Dean let out a huff, turning to Tony. "You better be damn sure about this, DiNozzo. I really don't want two deaths on my hands."

"McGee's death is on me," Tony snapped back, lifting his hands to show the dried blood on them. "Proof's right here. If I have to spill a little blood of my own to save Gibbs, then that's what I'll do."

Dean considered him for a moment after his outburst. Silence fell on the five of them for a few seconds. Then, Dean nodded. "Alright then," he said quietly. "I guess... we'll be out here, then. If you need us." Dean reached into his leather jacket and withdrew the knife Tony had used to kill McGee. It had been wiped clean of blood, but he could practically feel it on the blade when the older Winchester passed it to him.

He bit down on his tongue hard, trying to suppress the wave of emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him. He stuck the knife in one of his belt loops, juggling the items that Castiel had given him before shoving them into the pockets of his jacket. Castiel stared at him. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Tony replied. He stepped forward, following Castiel to the entrance of the dilapidated chapel. He could hear footsteps behind him. He turned to see Ziva following him.

"You think that I am going to let you go in there by yourself?" Ziva asked, crossing her arms as she met his gaze. Tony gave her a sad smile.

"Hey, I've got an angel on my shoulder. I'll be fine."

"Tony."

"Ziva," he said softly. "This is something I need to do alone."

He was about to face Orochi again, and he didn't know how he was going to react, or how this ritual was going to affect him. He didn't even like the idea of Castiel looking over his shoulder, and he barely knew the angel.

Ziva looked like she wanted to protest, but something about the look on his face must have discouraged her. She nodded stiffly before turning her back on him and walking back towards Sam and Dean, who were leaning on the hood of the Impala.

Tony stifled a sigh. _Dean better not hit on her while I'm gone_ , he thought distantly before tailing Castiel through the thick front doors of the chapel. Once they stepped inside what appeared to be an entrance hall, the doors slammed shut behind them.

The entrance hall was probably lavish at one point, but no longer. Ancient, broken down tables and chairs marked the sides of the room, while a once-red carpet covered the floor, rendered an ashy color by age. Stained glass windows lined the walls, letting in multicolored light that danced across the eerie scene. It was perfectly melancholy.

"What an excellent day for an exorcism," Tony whispered, unable to help himself. Castiel gave him an odd look, tilting his head. " _The Exorcist_ , 1973." Castiel's face went blank. "Come on, don't angels watch movies?"

"No," Castiel answered shortly as he made his way through the room. He paused at a tattered, curtained off area in the right hand corner of the entrance hall. He turned to look at Tony, pulling the curtain back. "I will wait for you in the sanctuary." He nodded towards the thick set of doors with golden handles on the other end of the room, which presumably led to the sanctuary. Tony blinked in understanding. A confession booth?

"I thought I was righteous?"

"Yes, but your blood will need to be purified of sin before you begin the ritual. Confess your sins to God, draw the first injection of blood, and then enter the sanctuary. Orochi is waiting there," Castiel said.

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know where to start-"

"Express honest regret for your transgressions," Castiel cut across him, ice blue eyes raking over him. "You do not need to ramble off a list of your mistakes. It is about the feeling more than the thing itself." Castiel paused for a moment. "' _The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much_ ,'" he quoted. Tony smirked.

"You're kind of like a walking, talking Bible, you know that?"

"I have studied the scripture extensively."

"I suspected," Tony said, passing the angel as he walked into the dusty confession booth. "So it doesn't matter that no one's on the other side?" he asked. He was met by a rustle of wings. When he turned, Castiel was gone. _Freaking angels._ He sank down onto the rotting wooden bench of the booth, dragging the threadbare curtain back so that he was isolated within.

Where to begin? What to say? Up until he met the Winchesters and Castiel, Tony had been fairly sure that there was no God up above watching over the world. He'd seen too much darkness in his life to believe anything else. But Castiel was an angel of the Lord... meaning that there had to a _Lord_ out there, somewhere. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Maybe he should just... wing it? He didn't know. He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, words catching in his throat. He took a deep breath. _Come on, DiNozzo._

"Um, if you're listening... I've never really tried this whole praying thing before... I guess I should introduce myself," he began, but then decided to go more formal. This was God, after all. He bit the inside of his lip before trying again.

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Junior of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and today, I killed my best friend," he whispered, bowing his head and clasping his hands together. "It was the only thing I could do. It was either I let him kill all of us... or he had to die. I reacted like I was trained to. I weighed the options and... and I chose the most favorable one." He managed a shaky breath. "I don't know if this is something that can be forgiven. I know I won't forgive myself. If I had done what I was supposed to do, if I’d just _protected_ them, he would still be alive, and Gibbs wouldn't be chained in the middle of a pentagram right now."

He withdrew the syringe from his pocket. "I won't sugarcoat it. I've done a lot of terrible things. I... I ask for forgiveness for all of the lives that I've ended, for all of the lives I wasn't able to save. But most of all, I pray for forgiveness for what I did today, and what I'm about to do." He plunged the tip of the needle into the central vein of his right arm, wincing in pain. "If You're up there, and You care... please don't make me kill another person I love today."

"I'm.., I'm sorry," he finally managed to whisper as the syringe filled with his blood. "For everything." For a long moment, Tony was silent. All he could hear was the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the nearby shore. He didn't expect an answer - even a present God was a quiet one, he supposed. Maybe that was the whole point of faith.

He rose slowly, hoping that the genuine regret he'd felt had cleansed his blood enough to work properly. He was sure that Castiel would tell him if it wasn't. He strode out of the confession booth, brushing a few cobwebs to the side as he did so. His footsteps echoed through the empty entrance hall as he stepped up to the doors that divided the antechamber and the main sanctuary. He pried the heavy doors apart and slipped inside, syringe in hand.

The sanctuary was large, the floors and walls both made of stone, though wooden supports stood between tall stained glass windows. They led to rafters about fifteen feet above his head, which supported iron chandeliers that looked a few swings away from falling to the ground. The center of the room had been cleared out, the wooden pews shoved to the side to make room for one large pentagram, a 'devil's trap', he presumed, along with a smaller one directly in front of it.

Within the larger devil's trap was Gibbs. The bag on his head had been removed, and his wrists were chained to the arms of the chair. His ankles were shackled to the legs. A stream of blood was leaking from Gibbs's nose, a consequence of Cas smashing his face into the ground repeatedly. Gibbs smirked at him.

"Long time no see, DiNozzo," he said, ice blue eyes focused unblinkingly on him. It didn't sound like Gibbs, even though it came from the older agent's mouth. "You should really get cleaned up. The blood-soaked and beaten look doesn't work on you." Tony glared at the demon, not dignifying him with a response.

Castiel looked up from where he'd been sitting on one of the pews near the pulpit, which was still in its place. He rose, eyes landing on the syringe in Tony's hand.

"Are you ready to begin?" he asked, and Tony nodded.

It was time.


	13. The Hardest Part

Ducky set down his scalpel with a heavy sigh. McGee's autopsy was complete. The cause of death was obvious: a stab wound through the heart. The only thing unusual was the fact that McGee's blood had congealed and been reduced to a thick black sludge. He could only assume that it was a side effect of being possessed by Orochi.

He had written up a truthful autopsy report. He decided that he would edit it once he was filled in properly by the rest of the team, when and if they managed to free Jethro from the demon's clutches. He would change the date and times on the autopsy after he had finished correcting it to make it seem somewhat believable to Director Vance. He could only hope that the director didn't decide to visit autopsy before he had a chance to get McGee in a drawer, or he would have quite a bit of explaining to do, and the explanation was not one that Vance would believe.

He began stitching up the Y incision he had made down the young agent's chest, absorbed by his own thoughts. Just as he was finishing, he heard the autopsy doors slide open. He restrained himself from letting out a loud curse as he spun. He had been hoping to avoid visitors in an attempt to keep McGee's sudden death a secret, dimming the lights in autopsy and trying to make it seem as though he wasn't even there. Apparently, his plan to remain inconspicuous had failed.

Abby entered into the frigid room, flicking on the lights as she did so. "Hey, Ducky, have you heard anything from Gibbs? I haven't talked to him since early this morning. Oh, and why are the lights off?" she asked, turning to face him. Her eyes stuck on the body he was bent over, and they widened significantly. Her expression turned to one of pure horror.

"Abby, you cannot be here right now."

"Oh my God."

"Abby, please, you-"

She raced forward to get a closer look, and when her gaze found McGee's peaceful and still face, tears flooded her eyes. "No, no, no," she whispered, spinning to face Ducky. The forensic scientist towered over him. "How did this happen!?" she said, her volume rising as two tears traced their way down her cheeks. "He can't... how..." she faltered, squeezing her eyes shut and letting out a harsh sob.

"Abigail, I will explain, but autopsy is not the place for you right now," Ducky said, trying his best to calm her. "Please. If you wait for me in your lab, I will explain everything once I am done with Timothy."

Abby nodded dimly, her face now streaked with tears. Ducky set a hand on her shoulder. "Okay," she murmured, wiping at her eyes.

"And please, do not tell anyone what you've seen here. As I'm sure you can guess, this involves the demon," Ducky said. Abby nodded again before quickly departing autopsy, not daring to look back at McGee's body. Ducky looked back at the agent's corpse. "She cares for you deeply, Timothy. I was hoping to keep your death from her for a little while longer, but apparently it was not meant to be."

* * *

Tony stared down the demon. How dare this thing inhabit his boss, use his body like some kind of plaything. Anger bubbled inside of him, and he was suddenly glad that he would be able to not only save Gibbs (hopefully) but also kill Orochi. _Two for one deal_ , he thought before pacing forward, needle in hand. "Give me your neck," he demanded.

Orochi snorted before leveling a defiant glare at him. "I don't want your filthy blood."

"Cooperating is probably in your best interest right now, considering you're strapped to a chair with zero leverage," Tony replied, eyeing the outside line of the devil's trap. "I can step into this, right?" he asked, directing the question at Castiel, who nodded in affirmation.

"Oh, I may not be able to hurt you physically while you have me trapped in here... but there are so many interesting ways to destroy you just using what's inside this meat suit's head," Orochi said, a malicious smiling curving his lips.

"Don't call him that."

Orochi chuckled. "You humans, you always try so hard to make your lives seem more relevant than they actually are. I've lived a life hundreds of times longer than your pathetic existence... you're _nothing,_ kid. Just a bag of organs waiting for the slaughter," the demon drawled.

"Do not let him provoke you," Castiel warned from beside him. "He can use your anger against you."

Tony roughly grabbed the side of his head and forced it to the side, exposing his neck. "Me, angry?" Tony asked, stabbing the syringe into the demon's carotid artery, eliciting a wince and a growl from Orochi. "Never."

"I'll kill you," Orochi spat as Tony depressed the plunger. "I'll rip out your intestines and force them down your throat."

"How very cliché of you," Tony retorted, turning his back on Orochi and making his way down the aisle between the pews. "Castiel, I'm not staying in here with that thing. Is the entrance hall still hallowed ground?" he asked.

"Yes," the angel responded, and he followed Tony as they exited the sanctuary.

"I'll be waiting for you, Tony!" Orochi shouted after him, a threat hanging in his voice. Tony suppressed a shiver as the doors shut behind he and Castiel. He sank down on a set of carpeted steps. A tarnished gold sign on the banister read that it led to a prayer room. Castiel sat down on the opposite side of the step, his hands resting on his lap as he stared at Tony.

"You're a fan of eye contact, I guess?" Tony asked, glancing sidelong at the angel.

"Yes. Dean has informed me that it's 'awkward', but I find that it's a difficult habit to break," Castiel responded, deadpan. Tony snorted slightly, leaning back. This was the first chance he'd had to just sit since they'd left NCIS to investigate Lance Corporal Belisarius's death.

His body felt like he'd been hit by a truck. His nose throbbed horribly, and every word he spoke sent a thrill of agony up his jaw, which he was almost positive was fractured. He was also fairly sure that he was concussed, if the fuzzy disorder of his thoughts were any indication.

He rubbed at his face, wincing as his fingers grazed the significant bruising there. He could feel the dried blood on much of the bottom of his face as well. He wondered briefly if Castiel could heal his injuries, but then remembered that the angel needed to conserve his Grace so he could get to Japan and find the Kusunagi. He rose from where he sat, looking around.

"Do you know if this place still has running water?" Tony inquired, looking around for a door that would lead to a bathroom. He spotted a side door by the entrance that looked promising.

"I believe so," Castiel said. Tony nodded, making his way to the restroom. Once inside, he wiped the dust off of a mirror and started the sink. He splashed water on his face, scrubbing gingerly around his nose and mouth to get rid of the blood. He wiped his face off with a paper towel before lifting his head to look at his reflection.

He looked old, a hell of a lot older than forty two. His entire face being a mess of bruises and lacerations didn't help. The thing that caught him the most were his eyes. Not the fact that most of the skin around them was black and blue, but that they looked so... empty. He hadn't seen his eyes look like that since Kate died.

He'd promised himself that day that he would never lose another partner, and he'd thought after he, McGee, and Gibbs had rescued Ziva from Somalia, he had succeeded in keeping that promise. After all, he'd crossed the world and fought tooth and nail to get Ziva back. If a massive terrorist organization couldn't break up their team, then what could?

_Demons, apparently,_ he thought, clenching the sides of the sink, his grip white-knuckled. If he hadn't seen proof right in front of him, he still wouldn't believe it. Monsters were supposed to stay in closets, under beds, in nightmares - where they belonged.

He withdrew from the sink. Now wasn't the time for this. Once this ritual was over and Orochi was gone, then he'd wallow in the mess of emotions that were clawing at his chest. Or shove them down so far that he couldn't feel them and then drown them in alcohol. The second option certainly seemed more favorable. **  
**

Tony departed the bathroom and returned to the step, where Castiel was waiting for him, staring into the distance contemplatively. Tony sank down on the step once more, considering the angel. He leaned his head against the banister, closing his eyes. "Talk to me, Castiel. Tell me something. It's hard for me to get words out, right now."

"What do you wish me to talk about?"

"I don't know, anything. You're an angel, you must have some pretty crazy stories, right?" Tony said. "Tell me about you and the Winchesters. How'd you meet them?"

"The demon could require our attention at any moment. It would not be wise to get distracted by conversation."

"Oh, come on. We've got time," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. Castiel pursed his lips.

"I raised Dean from Hell," he began. Tony blinked. _Hell? I thought he was a good guy?_ "He'd been trapped there for the equivalent of forty years. I raised him from Perdition, as he was destined to be the Righteous Man, the one who would stop the apocalypse..." Castiel paused. "How much of Dean and Sam's current situation are you aware of?"

"Well, you guys mentioned Lucifer and Michael a couple of times when you first showed up. Lucifer, I knew, obviously, but Michael I wasn't so sure of. So, I Googled him. He's an archangel who's supposed to battle Lucifer in the 'end times'. You said apocalypse, so I put one and two together that you guys are trying to stop Judgment Day," Tony explained.

"That is correct."

"Okay. Keep going."

"When Lucifer originally fell from Heaven, he created the first demon, Lilith, by tormenting a human soul until no humanity remained. God punished him for this by locking him in the Cage, a prison deep within Hell; inescapable, unless sixty-six of the six hundred and sixty-six seals were broken. Dean inadvertently broke the first seal, and after that, the demons spent the following year trying to break the other sixty-five. For the first time in hundreds of years, the angels returned to Earth. We'd been in Heaven for a very long time. I was in a garrison of angels, the soldiers sent to fight the demons. When I first took a vessel and walked the Earth in human form, I was... almost mindless. An emotionless drone."

Tony was tempted to comment on how Castiel still seemed pretty emotionless to him, but decided the effort required to speak wasn't worth it, so he remained silent as the angel continued.

"Meeting Dean... err, the Winchesters," he amended quickly. "It changed me. I began to develop feelings and attachments. I began to question the orders I was receiving. The angels were losing the war to stop the seals from being broken open, and things were not going well. Heaven began to doubt my judgment. I was punished severely. When I returned, the last seal was set to open."

"Truthfully, the angels were never trying to stop the apocalypse. We - they wanted it to happen, so Michael could win and there would be Paradise on Earth... though there would have been billions of human casualties." Tony noticed that Castiel's tone had turned bitter. "We were meant to be their shepherds, but the Host wanted nothing more than to destroy what our Father had built. Dean was spirited away by an angel named Zachariah while Sam was hunting Lilith. She was the final seal; killing her would free Lucifer from his Cage. Lilith was the demon responsible for Dean going to Hell, and Sam had been tracking her for a long time. He was thrilled to have the chance to finally kill her."

"Dean begged me to help him reach Sam before he killed Lilith, to free him from the temporary prison Zachariah had placed him in. At first, I declined, but then..." Castiel lowered his eyes. "I realized that if I was going to stand for something, I was going to stand for the man who'd never told me a lie. The man who showed me that there were things on this Earth worth saving. Before him, all I saw was pain, but... he showed me something else. Something different, something good. I made the decision to stand for mankind. I betrayed the other angels and fell. I helped Dean escape and took him to the prophet, the man who knew where Lucifer's Cage was, and where Lilith was. Unfortunately... another archangel, Raphael, sought to stop us from doing so. We found the location and I sent Dean away. I tried to stall Raphael long enough for Dean to stop Sam from breaking the final seal."

Castiel's gaze was distant as he continued. "I failed. We all failed. Dean didn't arrive fast enough to stop Sam. He killed Lilith and set the devil free, and Raphael killed me. This happened five months ago. However, when Lucifer was freed, I was resurrected. I can only assume that it was God. This was when the entire scheme of both Heaven and Hell was revealed. Dean is the archangel Michael's destined vessel, and Sam is Lucifer's. Angels, like demons, need a host, and only certain bloodlines can handle angels. Dean and Sam are the only ones who can be permanent vessels for the two of them. They were the swords that the two of them were going to use to fight the apocalypse and end the world... but there's a condition that must be met."

"Dean and Sam have to give consent for Lucifer and Michael to use their bodies. So far, they have refused to do so. As long as they say no, the apocalypse cannot happen. We are trying to find a way to rid the world of Lucifer without having to resort to Dean and Sam surrendering themselves to the archangels. The amount of human casualties would be astronomical. That is where we're at now."

After a beat of silence, Castiel look at him again, waiting for some reaction. "Wow," Tony said, searching for words that would be appropriate for the story Castiel had just told. Before all of this, he would've never believed such a tale, but now, he clearly didn't have a choice. "That would make a really good movie. Depressing as all hell, but... still good."

* * *

Ziva had been attempting to sleep in the backseat of the Impala since Tony and Castiel had entered the chapel. She had rested her head on the seat, pulling the leather jacket that Dean had lent her over herself like a blanket. However, every time she closed her eyes, the events that led them here played in her mind's eye, and she found that sleep was unreachable. She did need to rest, however, so she remained there, a pit of worry for Tony and Gibbs gnawing its way through her stomach.

Family goes beyond blood. That was the lesson she had learned in Somalia. Abandoned by her biological family, it had been McGee, Gibbs, and Tony that had saved her from Saleem and his terrorist cell. The bond they had, it was forged in fire, and it didn't matter that they weren't related. They _were_ family.

She felt like she did after Ari had died. _Was killed_ , she corrected herself _. Killed by you_.

The next eight hours would be absolute torture, and she'd been through the real thing. She only wished that she could be in there with Tony, but she understood that this was something that the older agent needed to do by himself - or rather, with only Castiel. Angels were exceptions, she supposed.

Ziva jumped slightly when she felt Tony's phone vibrate in her pocket. She withdrew it, checking the caller ID. She gulped when she saw that it was Abby. She brushed her concern to the side, telling herself not to worry. Surely, Abby hadn't discovered McGee's body... Ducky would have kept her out of autopsy...

"Yes?" she answered the phone, still wary.

"Ziva," Abby said on the other end, and from the broken sound of her voice, Ziva knew in an instant that something was not at all right with her friend. "I..." **  
**

She heard Ducky's subdued Scottish accent in the background, and a moment later, he was talking to her instead. "I am sorry, Ziva. Abigail dropped in on me unexpectedly, she saw... well, I'm sure you can imagine."

"It is alright, Ducky," she said with a small sigh. "It was wrong of us to keep it from her. I just wish that... well, I wish for many things right now."

There was a sound of fumbling, and Abby was back. "Ziva, you've got to promise me something right now," she demanded, a sob breaking her sentence halfway through.

"Abby..."

"Promise me you'll kill the son of a bitch," she hissed out, acid in every word she spoke. "Promise me that you and Tony will save Gibbs and kill the monster that-" she faltered, and another sob erupted on her end.

Ziva felt tears welling in her own eyes, and she nodded dimly. She knew that making promises she might not be able to keep was unwise, but she wasn't sure if she would ever be able to live with herself if she didn't follow through.

"I promise, Abby," she whispered. "I promise."


	14. Bleed Black

"Back again so soon?" the demon asked, watching Tony with Gibbs's bright blue eyes as he reentered the sanctuary, Castiel flanking him. Tony didn't dignify the demon with a response. He stopped cold just a few inches outside of the devil's trap, hand digging in his pocket for the second of the eight syringes. With a wince and a thrill of unease, he slid it into his vein, withdrawing another vial of blood from himself.

Once the syringe was full with dark red liquid, he stepped into the devil's trap, making sure that he didn't smudge the spray-painted lines with his shoes. "Neck. Now," he demanded, not wanting to risk touching the demon again. Castiel had warned him before coming in that if Orochi bit him, he wouldn't be able to complete the ritual, and they would be up shit creek without a paddle. Okay, maybe he was paraphrasing a little, but still; he had to be careful.

"He's screaming in here," the demon told him abruptly, a thin smirk forming on his lips. "Screaming and scratching, but he can't get out. It's hilarious."

"He's not screaming," Tony answered in a monotone. "He's waiting in there, silently fuming that he's not the one who gets the privilege of chopping you into itty bitty pieces... and when I get you the hell out of him, he'll probably head-slap me for saying that." It helped him to pretend that no matter what, things were going to be okay, to try not to think about all the things that could go wrong.

The demon blinked, and Gibbs's eyes were replaced by two black orbs. "You sound awfully sure of yourself, Tony. You're going to be disappointed when I break out of here and teach you what your insides taste like."

In an instant, Castiel was directly behind Orochi. He grabbed a fistful of silver hair and wrenched his head sideways. Tony took the opening and shoved the needle into his carotid, depressing the plunger. As soon as the syringe was empty of blood, he pulled back, and Castiel released the demon, who was writhing in his chair.

"Does my blood hurt him?" Tony asked. If it hurt Orochi - all the better. If it hurt Gibbs too, well... he didn't really want to think about that.

"Yes. It most likely feels like there is acid pouring through his veins at this particular moment," Castiel responded flatly. "I assume that you are more concerned about whether it's affecting Gibbs."

"That would be a yes."

"I'm not sure," the angel told him honestly. Tony sighed as he turned his back on Orochi and made his way towards the door again.

"It hurts him!" Orochi shouted, and Tony stopped dead in his tracks. "Burns him just like it burns me. He feels like his blood is on fire, like he's burning from the inside out-"

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he heard no more of the demon's words, as when he blinked he was on the carpeted staircase again, Castiel standing next to him. Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "Someone's in a teleport-y type mood." Although he didn't say it, he was silently grateful that Castiel had gotten him out of the sanctuary before he'd done something he regretted. "I don't get it, do you fly? Or just zap around with your angel magic, or something?"

"My wings cannot manifest in their entirety on Earth," Castiel said. "But yes, I do fly." Tony looked at Castiel's trench coat covered shoulders.

"So that's why you don't have wings? Because they can't manifest properly?"

"Yes," he said. "My wings are only visible when I take my true form, which cannot be perceived by demons or humans."

"What, do you turn invisible in your true form?" he asked, sinking down onto the steps once more. Castiel followed suit.

"No," he said. "Seeing the true form of an angel kills demons and burns out the eyes of humans, except in very special circumstances." Castiel shifted slightly, as if he was guilty about something.

"Don't tell me you burned out some poor bastard's eyes."

"She was a psychic. She tried to contact me... it was before I'd taken my vessel. I tried to warn her away, but she persisted." The angel frowned. "She lost her sight as a result."

"Well that sucks," Tony responded, leaning back against the next step. He didn't allow his eyes to close, no matter how much they wanted to. "Have you got enough juice to head over to the land of the rising sun, yet?"

Castiel's frown persisted, and his eyes lowered. "No. My Grace is recovering slower than usual."

"Is that a side effect of being a fallen angel?" he asked. Castiel nodded.

"Yes. I can only imagine that I will eventually weaken to the point that..." He pursed his lips. "That I will no longer have any of my abilities."

"What if you guys stop the apocalypse? Would you be able to get back into the heavenly fold?"

"That's not likely, no. As I mentioned before, the angels want the apocalypse to happen just as badly as Lucifer and the legions of Hell," Castiel explained in a monotone. Tony blinked. So the angel had really given up everything for the Winchesters? Castiel's self-sacrifice was admirable. It sounded like the two brothers barely stood a chance against Armageddon even with Castiel in tow. He couldn't think of where they'd be without him.

"You're a brave guy, Castiel," Tony told him honestly.

Castiel didn't say anything in response, but something about the angel's eyes told him that the comment had hit home.

* * *

Sam handed Ziva a sawed-off shotgun and a flask of holy water, along with an anti-possession necklace. She juggled the objects for a moment. She stuck the sawed-off in the holster she'd put on a moment before, pocketed the flask, and then threw the necklace over her head. The charm joined the star of David around her neck.

"Okay, I'll be back in twenty minutes," Sam said. They had decided since the three of them hadn't eaten in quite awhile, they might as well get some food while they waited out the ritual, which was well into its second hour at this point. "Be careful."

"Relax, Sammy," Dean said, placing a hand on the butt of his own sawed-off. "We'll be fine. And don't forget my pie this time."

Sam sighed. "I won't."

"Good. Be careful," Dean said as his little brother ducked down into the Impala, seating himself in the driver's seat. Sam tossed them a two fingered wave before pulling out of the chapel's parking lot.

Dean watched his brother drive down the dusty rural road that led along the coast until the Impala disappeared into the dark clouds of the oncoming storm. Dean ran an absent-minded hand through his hair. He didn't seem thrilled by the fact that his little brother was heading off alone, and the two of them had argued before Dean had finally acquiesced and allowed the younger Winchester to go on the food run solo. Dean turned to glance at her. "You want to go for a walk?" he asked abruptly.

Ziva gave him an appraising look. "It does not seem like a good idea to leave..."

"Just along the shore. Get some fresh sea air, you know?" Dean shrugged his shoulders, trying to seem indifferent, but Ziva could tell that this was something the hunter needed.

"Alright," she agreed. "But we keep the church in sight."

"Okay."

The two of them made their way across the empty road and down to the beach. It was difficult to walk in her heels, as she was still in her undercover outfit from the night before, so she shed them, tossing them without a thought back towards the church. They arced over the road and landed in the parking lot.

"Nice throw," Dean complimented. "You seem like a pretty tough chick."

"I do not know what baby chickens have to do with it, but thank you. I think."

Dean smirked. "That's something Cas would say. He's not too good with idioms."

"They frustrate me. Tony and McGee are always correcting me..." she trailed off, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach distracting her. Anytime she thought of McGee, she felt like she was going to be sick.

Dean watched her for a moment as they made their way down to the waves. There was a large sandstone rock embedded in the sand. Dean sank down onto it, and he patted the space next to him, indicating for Ziva to sit. She did so, her eyes watching the waves intently.

"I know what it's like," Dean blurted out. Ziva turned to him, giving him a questioning look. "Seeing someone you care about possessed," Dean clarified. "My dad, Sam, my friend Bobby - I've had to see all three of them get jumped by some black-eyed bitch. It's..." He shrugged, looking away. "One of the worst things I've ever seen, and I've seen some pretty horrific shit." He paused. "Sam was possessed for over a week before we exorcised him. Did some terrible stuff."

Ziva opened her mouth, fumbling for the proper words before giving up. "I do not know what to say."

"I guess what I'm saying is... listen, I know it's not going to make a crap bit of difference, but I'm sorry this happened," Dean told her honestly.

Ziva bit the inside of her lip, tugging Dean's leather jacket, which she'd been using as a blanket earlier, tighter around her as a strong breeze came in from the waves. "It is not your fault. It isn't anybody's fault, though know Tony would disagree."

"He did what he had to do," Dean replied. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"I know that, but I also know Tony, and he does not think that," she told him. She rested her chin on her hand, staring at the waves beating mercilessly again the shore. Thunder sounded in the distance.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Dean said. It wasn't a demand; it was request. She thought about declining, but right now, she needed someone to talk to. Dean had seen things like this before, terrible things. Reluctant as she was to share anything with a man she'd just met the day before, he would understand this better than anyone.

"Everything is falling apart," she began. "McGee is gone, Gibbs is possessed by a demon strong enough to destroy the entire world as we know it... and Tony, well, I do not even know. And sitting here, doing nothing? It is killing me." She swallowed, trying to control the emotion rising in her chest.

"I'd lie to you and say that things are going to be okay, but the fact is, they probably _aren't_ gonna be okay." Dean's voice was gentle as he said this. "The best we can do right now is hope that Tony can pull this off, and that there will still be something left of Gibbs when everything's said and done. All we can do right now is wait."

"They are my family," she said. "McGee, Tony, Gibbs... they are everything to me."

Dean nodded. "I know the feeling. Sam, Cas, and Bobby are all I've got."

"If you had been in Tony's position, would you have done it?" she asked suddenly, turning her gaze to meet Dean's bright green eyes. "Would you have been able to kill one of them? Would you have been able to look Sam in the eye and end his life?"

Dean ducked his head, seeming to think for a long moment. "...I couldn't," he said finally, with a slight shake of his head. "I really don't think that I could. And that's probably the only reason I didn't deck DiNozzo the minute we were out of that shelter for hesitating. Because I wouldn't have been able to do what he did. Hell, I might have just stood there and done nothing at all and got all of us killed." He swallowed. "Sam's my blind spot, I guess."

She didn't find it comforting that Tony was capable of something that even a hardened hunter like Dean wouldn't have been able to do. She felt tears burning in her eyes, and she was privately furious with herself for losing her grip like this. She angrily swiped at her eyes. She swore softly in Hebrew.

"Hey," Dean said, lightly grabbing her wrist. "It's okay. You've been through hell in the past couple hours, and trust me, I would know."

Ziva reluctantly let the tears fall from her eyes, and she felt Dean's arm around her shoulder. Usually, she wouldn't appreciate the affection, but something about the hunter made her feel safe. She leaned against his shoulder, and she let out the emotion she'd been struggling to keep back all day.

They sat there for a long time, waiting for Sam to get back. She cried until she felt a small sense of relief. Her eyes were dry and scratchy, and she felt embarrassed by the display, but she was relieved that at least Tony hadn't seen her like this. He didn't need that on top of what he was carrying around.

She was about to say that they should head back to the chapel before Sam arrived, but before she could, the flutters of wings behind them caused the two of them to jump. They both immediately sprang to their feet.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?"

The man was tall and balding, with beady eyes and a lip that seemed to be permanently curled in disdain. He wore an expensive suit, and had his hands clasped behind his back.

"Zachariah," Dean growled.

"Long time no see, Dean. I can honestly say I'm surprised. I came here expecting to find Orochi, and I find you..." His eyes wandered to Ziva. "And whoever this lovely creature is."

"Cut the crap, douche bag," Dean responded, taking out his sawed-off and pointing it at Zachariah's head. Ziva was confused - this man couldn't be an angel, could he? "What do you want?"

"Other than the usual?" The man cocked his head. "Well, I want Orochi dead, but from what I could sense inside the chapel, you've already got that handled. Nice job capturing it, by the way. What I want _now_ is information."

"And what the hell makes you think I'm going to tell you anything?" Dean growled. Zachariah rolled his eyes.

"Put the gun down and calm yourself."

"I don't care that you're an angel, I will still turn your meat suit into Swiss cheese," Dean countered.

" _You_ are an angel?" Ziva asked. She had assumed that all angels would be like Castiel. Stiff and deadly serious, with an eerie, piercing gaze.

"Guilty as charged," Zachariah responded offhandedly, his eyes sliding over Ziva. "Dragging along a new posse now, Dean? Hopefully she and the one doing the ritual last longer than the friends you brought with you on your last suicide mission-"

"You son of a bitch, don't you _dare_ bring them into this," Dean warned, rage flashing in his eyes. Ziva wondered who his last friends were, and if the Winchesters had a habit of getting the people they associated with killed. "How the hell do you even know about that?"

"That little shindig in Carthage? Yes, we know all about that. You're the Michael Sword, Dean. Lucifer keeps an eye on Sam, we keep an eye on you... at least as best as we can with those pesky Enochian sigils that Castiel had the foresight to put on you and your brother," Zachariah explained with an air of irritation. "But I'm not here to rub in your face your pathetic attempts to stop the apocalypse - a gun kills the devil, come on now - I'm here to find out who's behind Orochi being dragged up from Hell."

"We're more worried about stopping him than who summoned him," Dean ground out. Ziva remained silent. She had no intentions of putting forth the information that Irena and possibly the King of the Crossroads Dean and Sam mentioned were the ones responsible for Orochi's reappearance on Earth.

"Don't play cute with me, boy," Zachariah said sharply. "Orochi is an A-list demon. Someone big is behind this, and I'd bet my wings that you three know whom."

"Why? Why do you and all the other dicks upstairs even care?"

"Dean," Ziva said quietly. "Perhaps it is not wise to call angels 'dicks'."

"Listen to the lady," Zachariah said, eyes glinting dangerously. "Or do you want a repeat of when I gave you stage four stomach cancer?" Ziva had a feeling he wasn't kidding.

"I'm not telling you anything, so you might as well leave now," Dean said, squaring his shoulders and glaring at the angel defiantly.

"I'm going to give you..." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Ten seconds to reevaluate that decision."

"You can give me ten years for all I care. Answer's still no."

Zachariah shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you." A second later, Dean collapsed to the ground, clutching at his stomach. The hunter coughed, and blood spattered out on the sand. Ziva went to her knees next to him, putting a hand on his back. She looked up at Zachariah, panicked. What had the angel done?

"What did you do to him?"

"A nasty mix of Marburg hemorrhagic fever and irritable bowel syndrome," he replied nonchalantly before stooping down and fisting his hand in Dean's hair, forcing his head up. "Now, how about you dish before you start bleeding out of every orifice? And I do mean _every_."


	15. Affliction

"Tick-tock, Dean. I want answers," Zachariah said as Dean continued to vomit up blood. He felt like his stomach was full of boiling acid, and his back was tingling, like something was festering there. Hot blood coursed from his mouth and nose, and his vision was blurred. His mind was a haze of agony. He didn't have much choice here. With Cas inside, he didn't have anyone that could scare Zachariah away. Plus, although he knew Zachariah wouldn't kill him, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't waste Ziva just to spite him. He rolled over, sand scratching against his arms.

"Crowley," he coughed, blood spattering his chest. "We think it was Crowley."

"Crowley?" Zachariah repeated. "Not the Crossroads King?"

"Yes, yes! They think it is him! Now stop what you are doing to him!" Ziva ordered, glaring at Zachariah with fire in her eyes. The angel tilted his head, not seeming inclined to heal him at this moment.

"Why would Crowley want to raise Orochi when the apocalypse is proceeding along just as scheduled anyway?"

"How the hell should I know?" Dean croaked. "He wants the devil gone, for whatever reason."

"Oh, really? That is interesting..." He smirked down at Dean. "I suppose I should heal you now, but then again, this is a rare opportunity. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you since I took you to 2014. I think it's time to ask you again..." The angel bent down, twisting his fingers into Dean's hair, a toad like grin on his features. Dean tried to look defiant, but with the way he was feeling, it was difficult to keep up any expression other than agony. "One little word, and I make all the pain go away."

"Get bent, jackass," he spat out, gritting his teeth. "You can b-bleed me dry, I'm not saying yes."

"Yes? Yes to what?" Ziva asked, looking completely lost. Zachariah tightened his grip, and the pain in Dean's stomach doubled. He let out a scream. "STOP!" the ex-Mossad agent shouted. To Dean's amazement, she launched herself at Zachariah, catching the angel by surprise and knocking him away with a well aimed tackle.

"Ziva, no!" Zachariah wouldn't hesitate to kill her. Of that, he was sure.

Zachariah waved a hand, and Ziva was thrown backwards, flying a good ten feet before crashing into the ground with a groan. Zachariah stood up, straightening his suit with some irritation. The angel stalked towards her, but before he could get close enough to smite her, he turned to see the Impala trundling down the beach at high speed, heading straight for him. The windshield was obscured by blood - an angel banishing sigil. Sam's head leaned out the window, his eyes glued to the angel.

Without further ado, the Impala hit Zachariah. The angel barely flinched, instead putting a sizable dent in the front-end of the Impala. Dean let out a croak of "Baby!" just as Sam reached his hand around and smacked it onto the windshield. There was a brilliant white light and a shout of irritation, presumably Zachariah's, before the angel disappeared.

As soon as Zachariah was banished, the terrible pain ripping through his organs disappeared with him. Dean collapsed to the ground, gasping with relief. He felt large hands on his shoulders, pulling him up. "Easy, Dean," Sam said, helping his brother to his feet. "Ziva, are you okay?" Sam shouted, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the shoreline.

"Fine," the ex-Mossad agent called back, her voice a little strained. Dean turned his head to see her walking towards them, rubbing her shoulder. "I did not know you could kill angels," she said.

"You can't," Sam said. "That was an angel banishing symbol." He held up a bloody hand. "Drawn in human blood."

Dean arched his eyebrows, clapping Sam on the back proudly. "Well, shit. Good thinking, Sammy."

"Come on, he knows where we are now, and we can't leave. We've got to get inside the church and angel proof it. That sigil's not going to keep Zachariah away for long," Sam said, pressing Dean and Ziva forward. The three of them filed into the Impala, Dean seating himself in the driver's seat and looking at the car with a sick feeling in his stomach. He was going to have to take Baby to Bobby's if they lived through this crap.

Dean drove the car up the beach, speeding back towards the church. He glanced sideways at Sam, who was cradling his bloody hand.

"Did you remember my pie?"

"Dean!"

"I haven't eaten in twelve hours, cut me a break," Dean responded, looking into the backseat. He saw a few white bags stored there that she assumed held their lunch. When they parked, Sam got out and immediately went to the trunk, not replying. "You forgot, didn't you!"

"Is now really the time to worry about pie?" Ziva asked, exasperated. She followed Sam to the back of the Impala. Her eyes widened, and she muttered something in Hebrew that Dean didn't understand. "I have never seen an armory such as this."

"We like to be prepared," Sam replied. Dean grabbed the food from the backseat and walked around the back of the vehicle just in time to be handed a can of spray paint from Sam. "Do you remember the angel banishing sigil?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Sam said. He reached a hand into the Impala and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to Ziva. "We're going to need to put these up once we're inside... they have to be done in human blood. Are you okay with that?" Ziva didn't seem shocked by what Sam had said. Dean supposed after all the insanity that they'd put her and her friends through, crazy was starting to seem commonplace. She just nodded.

"How much holy oil do we got?" Dean asked.

"Not much, Cas said the stuff is rare," Sam replied, removing two pots from the trunk, along with their field surgeon kit. "Come on, we need to get inside."

* * *

Tony jabbed Orochi in the neck, depressing the plunger and giving the demon its third dose of the DiNozzo Special. Orochi growled, pinching his eyes shut and throwing his head back. He writhed in the chair. "Why even bother with this?" he hissed. "Do you actually think there's going to be anything left of him once I'm gone?"

"You're in his head and you don't know the answer to that?" Tony asked. "Gibbs is too stubborn to die."

The demon narrowed its eyes at him. "We'll see about that. Maybe I'll just leave him a drooling mess instead, hmm?"

"Go to hell," Tony said, turning around. Cas waited for him by one of the pews. "Literally."

"I'M NOT GOING BACK THERE!" Orochi shouted after him, his stolen voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "NOT AGAIN!"

Tony threw open the doors to the foyer, happy that they were starting to get to the demon. They slammed shut behind himself and Castiel. Tony massaged his arm, where the three bloody pinpricks from the needles resided. "Three hours down, five to go. How're you doing on juice?" he asked, directing his question at the angel beside him. Castiel gave a resigned shake of his head.

"I believe I will be able to transport to Japan without much issue, though I am unsure of how quickly I will be able to return," he responded. Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair, which was sticking up in odd places. Damn, he needed a comb.

"So, what, back in the good old days you would've just been able to pop there and back, no sweat?"

Castiel's eyes darkened for a moment. "Yes," he answered flatly. Tony pursed his lips. It seemed like the guy had a lot in his lap with his fallen angel and Armageddon flavored problems. And he thought that he had it rough. Abruptly, Cas tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

"What? What is it?"

"I sense..." His eyes darted to and fro. "I sense an angelic presence. It's been on the edge of my awareness for several minutes now, though I couldn't pinpoint precisely what it was until now."

"That's bad, right?" Tony was still getting himself accustomed to the idea that angels could be bad guys.

Cas blinked. "Yes." The angel paused for a moment. "It's gone, now."

Suddenly, Ziva, Sam, and Dean burst through the thick double doors of the church. Dean had dried blood stained on his chin, and Ziva's hair was a disaster and she was covered in sand. Dean was clutching several white bags in one hand and held a can of spray paint in the other. Sam had a few weird pots, and Ziva was gripping a piece of paper.

"Cas," Dean breathed. "Zachariah."

Cas's eyes widened. "He was here? How did he find you?"

"He wasn't tracking Sam and Dean, he was tracking Orochi," Ziva provided.

"We need to get ready in case he comes back," Sam said.

"Yeah, and knowing him, he'll probably bring along the whole douche-bag brigade with him," Dean added on. Cas grimaced.

"If you give me the spray-paint, I will be able to put together sufficient wards to keep them at bay, at least temporarily," Cas said. "Unfortunately, it will also mean I will be unable to enter the church until the warding is taken down."

"It'll lock you out, too? Isn't there some kind of alteration you can make in the warding?" Sam asked. Cas shook his head.

"It would only weaken the warding and leave room for Zachariah to exploit the flaws. We cannot allow the angels to interfere when we are this close to stopping Orochi. I will depart for Japan and return when I can."

"You sure about this, man?" Dean asked. Cas nodded.

"We have no other choice," the angel replied. Dean sighed before he promptly tossed Castiel the can. Without another word, the angel disappeared. Dean, Sam, and Ziva all turned to look at Tony, and he saw concern cross Ziva's face. Did he really look that bad?

"I'm lost," Tony admitted. "What's going on?"

"We don't really have time for a Q&A session right now, but let's just say something big and bad just paid us a visit, and it'll be back pretty friggin' soon." Dean considered him for a sec. "How you doing blood loss wise?"

"Dean," Sam said, adopting what Tony could only call a bitch-face. "He's already giving up eight syringes, we don't want to push it."

"Push what?" Tony asked. Ziva held up the paper she was holding. Inscribed on it was a symbol reminiscent of the one Castiel had given Tony that he said he would have to carve into Gibbs's chest before he could finish off the ritual and exorcise Orochi.

"This is a banishing sigil," Ziva explained. "It must be drawn in human blood."

"Okay. Where should I put it?"

"Tony, no," Sam said. "You've already lost a lot of blood today, and with the ritual on top of it-"

"I don't care," Tony cut across the hunter. "If whatever this big bad is comes and crashes the party, we're not going to be able to finish off the ritual anyway. It's time for all hands on deck."

Dean nodded his head. "He's right, Sam. Go with Ziva. Put 'em on walls, flat surfaces. Only do two each, or you'll bleed yourselves out. Sam, start pouring the holy oil," he instructed. With nods of assent, they all set about their tasks. He motioned Ziva towards the eastern wall of the foyer, which had minimal decoration.

Ziva removed a knife from a sheath that had been concealed on her ankle. Without hesitation, she dragged it across her palm, wincing only slightly. She cleaned off the blade with the edge of her shirt and handed it to Tony. Tony copied her actions, but he flinched after the blade bit into his skin. Ziva, having already memorized what the sigil looked like, moved to the far end of the wall, leaving him the paper with the example on it. Tony dabbed his fingers in his wound, and using his blood like some kind of macabre finger paint, began to copy the banishing sigil onto the wall.

"So, what's the big bad?" He called over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam pouring the oil from the pots in circles on the carpet, staining it brown. Dean had disappeared, and Tony could only assume that he had pursued Cas to wherever the angel had gone off to.

"Angels," Sam explained. "It's kind of a long story."

"I know," Tony replied. "Castiel told me it. Riveting, by the way."

"Cas told you everything?" Sam asked, brow furrowed. Tony nodded, returning to the sigil.

"Yup," he replied. "Not like we've just been sitting here twiddling our thumbs for the past three hours. So, these banishing sigils, they'll send our fine feathered friends on a long vacation elsewhere?"

"Yeah. The holy oil can trap them, and then hopefully whatever Cas and Dean are doing will keep the angels from coming in at all. That's so long as we're just dealing with Zachariah and his lackeys. If they somehow find Michael a temporary vessel and he shows up? Well, we're screwed."

"Michael," Tony repeated. "The archangel that wants Dean's body?" He resisted the urge to turn the statement into some variety of innuendo.

"That's him."

"That is what Zachariah was talking about," Ziva said from across the room. "He was trying to get Dean to say yes to something. He has to give this angel permission to use his body?"

"That's right. And he has no intention of saying yes," Sam said. Tony could almost hear the silent end of Sam's sentence: _and neither do I._

Soon, four banishing sigils were on different walls throughout the church. One in the prayer room, one in the sanctuary, and two in the foyer. Sam had thoroughly covered the place in holy oil, and Dean soon returned to tell them that he and Cas had set up angel wards around the church, so for the time being, they were relatively safe.

Dean patched up Ziva's wound while Sam worked on Tony's. Sam expressed his regret that they didn't have any blood packs on hand. Tony waved him off, saying that he would be fine. He probably wouldn't, but right now they all had enough to worry about without throwing Tony's deteriorating condition on top of it. Yeah, things were getting a little hazy and he was having trouble thinking straight, but he had a job to do. End of story.

Dean passed out burgers that Sam had picked up from a local fast food joint, along with drinks. They settled onto the steps leading up to the second floor of the church, all of them silent as they ate. Well, silent except for Dean's complaints about the pie that Sam had apparently forgotten.

By the time they'd finished angel-proofing, getting stitched up, and eating, it was time for Orochi's fourth injection. Tony walked into the sanctuary of the dilapidated church, sliding the fourth syringe out of his pocket. He stuck the tip into his vein, withdrawing another dose with a wince. Orochi watched him intently as he did so. This time, he was alone.

"Sure hope that angel warding holds up," Orochi said, arching an eyebrow at Tony. "You've really gotten yourself into it, now. Do you even realize that the Winchesters are both Heaven and Hell's most wanted? Hanging around with them, you're going to have every demon and angel after your ass." He smirked, and it wasn't Gibbs's half-smile that he gave Tony when he actually managed to amuse his boss. It was something cold and unfamiliar. "I might not even have to kill you myself, once I break out of here."

"How's that plan coming along?" Tony retorted, pushing the demon's head to the side and stabbing the syringe into his neck. It growled and jerked back, but Tony managed to empty the entire dose before he was forced to remove the needle at risk of cutting into something important of Gibbs's.

"Well, I'm currently torturing your wannabe daddy here with his worst memories. He's had a rough life, hasn't he? Figure I might as well make him relive his wife and daughter's death over and over again. Just for the hell of it. You should hear him screaming in here-"

Orochi quickly learned a valuable lesson. It isn't wise to poke the bear.

Tony launched a fist directly into Orochi's jaw, and the demon winced as his skull crashed against the high-backed chair. Before he even had a chance to recover, Tony's fist slammed into his cheek. He raised his hand once more, his vision blurring with rage, but he felt a steel grip on his arm before he could follow through.

"Tony." He turned to see Dean staring at him, his expression grave. He hadn't even heard the oldest Winchester enter the sanctuary. "It's still Gibbs's body." Tony blinked, and he saw the blood dripping from the corner of Orochi's mouth, and the demon grinned at him, teeth bloody. Tony fought the impulse to punch him yet again - the demon had goaded him into pummeling him, and in turn he'd unintentionally harmed Gibbs.

"Boss, if you can hear me, I'm sorry," Tony said, looking Orochi dead in the bright blue eyes that were supposed to be Gibbs's but weren't.

"He can't hear you," Orochi said. "He can feel that he just got sucker punched though, if that helps."

"You son of a bitch," Tony growled, but he felt himself being dragged out of the room by Dean

"We've got bigger problems to deal with right now," Dean said as they reentered the foyer. Sam and Ziva were waiting there with grim expressions.

"Yeah? And what could possibly be worse than this?" Tony asked, trying to free himself from Dean's grip.

"There are ten demons outside of the church, waiting to ambush us."

Okay. That was definitely worse.


	16. God Called in Sick Today

"Demons?" Tony repeated. "Wait, what the hell? We're getting rid of Orochi! Isn't this what they want? Less competition for power, less competition for the devil?"

"That's what we thought, too," Dean said. "We're guessing our buddies outside are some of Crowley's bruisers. He sent in the cavalry to keep us from finishing off the ritual."

"So, what do we do?" he asked. Demons. Angels. The apocalypse. Tony suddenly felt himself wishing that he had gone on how he was, blissfully unaware of the war being waged behind the scenes. Human evil was so much simpler to deal with than this. This was a game of supernatural chess, and they'd already lost too many pieces. "I mean, can you even kill demons?"

"Yeah," Sam said, slipping his strange knife out of its sheath. "There are only a few things that can kill demons. An angel can always smite them, but since Cas is gone, that isn't really an option." He held up the knife. "This knife and a special gun made by Samuel Colt himself are the only weapons that can actually kill a demon."

"And how many of those things do we have?" Tony inquired, dreading the answer.

Dean held up a single finger. "Well, our angel's vacationing east, and we lost the Colt when we tried to take out Lucifer a couple weeks back."

Tony blinked, not sure if he'd heard right. "You tried to shoot the devil?" He couldn't claim to know much about Satan, but he thought it was kind of a given that you couldn't just shoot the guy.

"The Colt can kill anything," Dean defended. "Well, almost anything. Not the devil, which we found out the hard way."

"There are four of us, only one weapon that will actually work against a demon, and then ten demons waiting to kill us," Ziva summarized. "This is not a good situation."

"That's the understatement of the goddamn century," Dean replied. "If we try to kill all of them, we'll get slaughtered. The angels made it clear that Sammy and me dying isn't an option for them, but they're not gonna lift a finger if one of you bite it. We need a game plan."

"Wait, I have an idea," Sam said suddenly. "Has anyone been up in the belfry yet?"

"Yeah, when I tagged up the place," Dean replied.

"Is there a speaker system up there?" the younger Winchester inquired, turning to his brother.

"Yeah, I think so."

"With a mic?" Sam asked hopefully

"No."

"What about something that can play tapes?"

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, seeming to catch onto something that Tony wasn't aware of.

"Why does it matter if there is a speaker system?" Ziva asked.

"I have a taped recording of an exorcism. If we play it on the speakers, it'll send all the demons outside straight back to Hell and we won't have to fight them all," Sam shared, seeming satisfied with the plan.

Dean's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Great. Where's the recording?"

Sam's expression went blank. "Uh."

"Let me guess," Tony said. "The car?"

Sam nodded. Dean swore under his breath. "Awesome," he spat out. "So, we just have to dance our way through ten demons with one knife to get to Baby without getting ripped to shreds."

Sam sighed slightly. "Man, I really wish Cas was still here."

"Me too." Dean blinked as something dropped out of his sleeve and clattered to the floor. "The hell?" He looked down to see a narrow silver short sword at his feet. Dean allowed himself a small smile as he stooped down to pick it up. "Friggin' angel," he murmured.

"Did he just send you that?" Ziva asked, confused.

"Yeah. Guess he's keeping an ear on us to make sure we're still kicking," Dean replied. "You think this thing can kill demons, Sam?"

"If it can kill angels, I don't see why it wouldn't kill demons, too," Sam said with a shrug.

"Sweeeeeet."

"Okay, so now we've got two demon killing weapons," Sam stated. "Two against ten. We've faced worse odds."

Dean furrowed his brow for a moment, seeming to think before he shook his head slowly. "No. We can't both go out there." He received matching looks of confusion from Tony, Ziva, and his brother.

"And why is that...?" Tony trailed off.

"Because if we get overwhelmed and Sam and I get wasted before we get to the tape, you two are defenseless. They'll storm the place, gut you both, and let Orochi free. One of us has got to stay here as a second line of defense." Before Sam even had a chance to speak, Dean continued. "Sammy, you hold down the fort, I'll get the tape. It's in the trunk, right?"

"Hey, hold on a second - you can't go out there alone, Dean! It's suicide!" Sam protested, looking at his brother like he was insane.

"If I get ganked, Michael will just bring me back. Might as well use that to our advantage," Dean argued.

"That's not a guarantee!" Sam said. "And who knows how long you'd be dead before the angels brought you back? You can't go out there alone."

"I will go with him," Ziva said, just as Dean opened his mouth in retort. "I will draw the demons away, you get the tape from the Impala." She slid her rock-salt shotgun out of the holster on her side. "You said these would hurt the demons, yes?"

"Whoa, whoa, no way," Tony jumped in, moving to stand in front of Ziva. He learned long ago not to underestimate Ziva, but this was something beyond her abilities, something that only Sam and Dean could even hope to be prepared for. "I'm not letting you go out there and get yourself turned into Purina Demon Chow.

"Tony, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she said, a hint of defiance in her voice. "I will be fine."

"I'm with Tony. Mossad or not, when it comes to this kind of thing, you're still a civilian," Dean agreed with him. "I can handle this."

"Unless you plan on tying me down here, I will go with you," she said sharply. "I am going to protect what is left of my team, with or without your permission. You can choose to work with me or not, that is up to you."

Dean looked a little surprised by the outburst. He glanced sideways at Sam, seeming to try to glean his brother's opinion through a simple look. There was a subtle shrug of the shoulders from Dean, an eyebrow raise from Sam. A moment later, Dean sighed, redirecting his eyes to Ziva.

"If you're going out there, then I'm gonna be the one to draw the fire," Dean said, seeming to understand that Ziva wasn't budging. Tony balked, still less than pleased with the plan.

"Ziva, don't do this," he said, taking a step closer to her. He grabbed her arm, pulling her off to the side to try to have as much of a private conversation as he could with the Winchesters still in the room. "I can't lose anyone else today," he added in a low voice. He couldn't take it if something happened to Ziva. Not on top of losing McGee. Not to mention the fact that Gibbs's life was still hanging in the balance.

Tony flinched in surprised when Ziva put hands on both sides of his face, slender fingers gripping tightly. "Listen to me," she said, a quiet intensity in her words. "I'll be fine. I will." There was a brief pause before she spoke again. "I won't leave you."

"I won't let you go," he replied, lifting his hands and curling them around his partner's wrists. "I can't."

"You can't stop me," she whispered, devoid of any bite. "You know that."

And he did. God, he really did. He knew Ziva David, and he knew that if she wanted to do something, then damn it, she was going to do it. Nothing would stop her - not demons, not angels, not the Winchesters, and certainly not him.

The two of them stood there like that for a long moment with Sam and Dean observing quietly (and with a good dose of awkward shuffling, Tony noticed) before either of them moved. Ziva dropped her hands, letting them fall to her sides. Tony was still holding her wrists, feeling her pulse through his palms.

Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the fear, maybe it was the fact that killing McGee had shattered the walls he'd worked so hard to build up, because what he did next was definitely not status quo for he and Ziva. He leaned forward, sliding his hands down to intertwine his fingers with hers before pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Don't you die on me, David," he mumbled against her warm skin. "Don't you dare." He heard Ziva let out a small breath, surprising him by leaning into his touch instead of withdrawing.

"You call me a ninja," she whispered. "Ninjas beat demons, yes?" Tony couldn't help but smile, in spite of everything.

"Yeah," he responded, reluctantly pulling back from Ziva and releasing her hands. "Ninjas totally beat demons. No doubt about it."

Dean cleared his throat loudly, drawing the two agents' attention back to him. "This is real touching and everything, but we need to get this show on the road." Tony nodded in agreement with Dean, backing away from Ziva.

"Okay," Sam said. "Ziva, the tape should be right next to the gallon jugs of holy water. Be careful, let Dean handle the demons, and stay out of dodge."

"Don't let 'em get anywhere near you," Dean warned. "You're gonna need to move fast. Spend more time running than firing. I'll try to lead them away, but I'm not making any guarantees that they won't come after you."

Ziva nodded stiffly, flicking off the safety on her sawed-off shotgun. "Understood."

"I'm going to lead them back towards the woods, try to get them pissed enough to surround me. If they split up, we're gonna have a big problem." Dean twirled the angel blade in his hand. "So, in summary, don't die and move like your life depends on it, because trust me, it does."

"I know." Ziva jerked her head towards the door. "We should not waste anymore time. Let's go."

"Alright." Dean looked at Sam. "Fall back to the sanctuary, okay? Barricade the door. Just in case."

Sam grimaced. "You're not really reassuring me, Dean."

"Can't be too careful," Dean replied. Sam gestured to Tony, beckoning him towards the sanctuary. Tony grimaced. Great. Ziva and Dean get sent out as the sacrificial lambs, and he and Sam get crammed in with the asshole demon that's possessing Gibbs.

He was pretty sure this was the definition of one of those 'everything that could go wrong' days.

* * *

Dean and Ziva huddled by the door, going over their strategy one last time before heading out into the freezing January evening. Ziva held the sawed-off he'd given her, her back to the door. Dean's hand was wrapped tightly around Cas's angel blade. Thank God the angel had heard their predicament and sent as much help as he could. This at least gave them a chance.

"So, uh... you and Tony?" Dean was itching to satisfy his curiosity before they left the church. Ziva looked at him sharply.

"What about us?"

"I didn't know you were... you know..."

"We are not _you know_ ," Ziva said, her tone leaving little room for argument. "We are just partners."

"Uh-huh." For his sake, he hoped she was telling the truth. It was significantly easier to score with chicks who weren't already spoken for.

"Shouldn't we focus on the matter at hand?" the ex-Mossad agent asked, giving him a withering look. Dean nodded. Right. Demons.

"Yeah, one last thing," Dean said. He slipped his holy water flask out of his pocket and handed it to her. "This'll burn them. Don't be shy with it."

"Shouldn't you keep this?"

Dean held up the angel blade. "This should have the black-eyed bastards running. I don't need any extra help."

"Angel blades can kill anything, correct?" Ziva asked. Dean quickly caught onto her meaning.

"Well, Cas was never real specific about it, but I think it can take out pretty much anything short of archangels or Orochi, which makes us kind of SOL, but at least it'll save our hides for the time being," he replied. "Alright, you ready?"

"Yes."

"Let's go kick some ass."

Each of them ploughed a shoulder into the front doors, spreading them open and letting hazy moonlight into the long-abandoned church's foyer. There was immediate movement; dark shadows on the edges of their vision. Dean had a mini Maglite clutched in his free hand, and he quickly flashed it up to illuminate the bared teeth and black eyes of three of the demons waiting to ambush them.

Three? He could handle three. Bring it on, bitches.

The three demons all lurched at him at once. He could tell from their lack of coordination that they weren't used to the meat suits they were in. Good. Made them all the easier to slice and dice. They were probably low level too, since none of them had started tossing him around like a ragdoll yet.

He sprinted to the right, headed for the woods lining the beach. He brought his flashlight up. He could see more demons now. Four. Five. Six. He didn't hear anything from Ziva, so he took that as a good sign. Hopefully, they were all focused on him. The sand clung to his boots and slowed his movement, but he was able to stay a few feet ahead of the demons.

"Come and get me, you bastards!" Dean yelled. "Once I exorcise your ugly mugs back to Hell, you can tell Crowley all about your little trip up top - tell the limey son of a bitch from me that he can take his apocalypse demon and cram it straight up his midget ass!"

Eloquence, thy name is Winchester. He may have been laying on the taunting a little thick, but he certainly seemed to rile up the demons with his words, so mission accomplished. They picked up their pace, and he saw two more demons join the six that had already been pursuing him. Eight then. So where were the other two...?

He heard a shotgun blast to his far left. Ah. They'd found Ziva.

"Too slow, assholes!" Dean shouted, dancing just out of reach of the demon pack chasing him. The trees were close now, only about fifteen feet. Once he was in there, he could lose them. They'd hopefully waste a good amount of time searching or him.

_Don't you die, Ziva,_ Dean thought as his feet slipped through the clinging, cold sand of the beach. _DiNozzo'll kill me if I let them get to you._

* * *

Once they'd left the safety of the church, Ziva had immediately darted towards the Impala, letting nothing distract her from retrieving the tape. She'd already reached the classic vehicle and had the trunk thrown open before she ran into trouble. She was grabbed by her hair, pulled backwards. She thrust the butt of her shotgun into the darkness behind her, heard the sound of cartilage and bone snapping - she'd broken her attacker's nose.

She wrenched herself out of the demon's grip, turning around in an instant. With no light, all she could make out were hulking silhouettes. Men, she guessed. Possessed men. She quickly fired a blast in the direction of one of the shadows, and she heard a corresponding groan as he dropped to his knees. The other one launched at her, tackling her to the ground. She felt sweaty hands wrap around her throat.

In the distance, she heard yelling. Dean, drawing the other demons away. Shame he hadn't distracted all of them.

She tried to fire the sawed-off again, but the demon had her arms pinned. Feet, then. She drove her knee upwards into his crotch. The demon didn't even seem to notice. She remembered faintly from her training in Mossad that demons didn't feel pain like humans; they were detached enough from their hosts that only severe physical pain or injuries from anti-demon weapons hampered them.

Ziva felt the pressure on her throat increase. She was cut off from air completely. Damn it. She writhed and struggled underneath the demon for a moment before realizing that it was useless with his superhuman strength. Flailing would only make her run out of oxygen faster. She just had to find a way to get him off of her. She threw her head forward, slamming her forehead against the demon's, which seemed to actually daze him for a moment. The squeezing of her esophagus lessened ever so slightly, just enough for her to buck the demon off of her. He rolled away, and she quickly blasted him in the face with her now liberated shotgun.

"Bitch!" the demon spat, clutching his stolen face. His counterpart was getting up now, cradling his stomach. Ziva roundhouse kicked him in the side of the head, causing him to stumble sideways. She quickly loaded two more rock-salt shells into the shotgun before blasting him in the chest, sending him to the ground.

She spun around, moving as fast as she could. The trunk light in the Impala was on, illuminating the vast contents of the car's backend. She scrounged with her hand next to the large gallon jugs of holy water, just as Sam had instructed. There - the exorcism tape. She quickly pocketed it before spinning around to shoot one of the demons in the knee cap, as he'd just risen from the ground. He went down once again. To make sure they didn't get up before she was in the church, she removed the flask of holy water Dean had given her from the pocket of her jacket and emptied the contents onto the two demons' faces, eliciting screams of agony from both of them.

She stepped past the bodies and raced towards the church. She couldn't see Dean now, he was beyond her line of sight, but she could hear sounds of a skirmish coming from the tree line. She could only hope they could exorcise the demons before they overwhelmed Dean.


	17. Into the Blinding Light

Thirty-one. Thirty-one wasn't old. Yet Dean couldn't help but think that at twenty-one, he would've had a hell of a lot better luck outrunning eight demons. He now found himself pinned to a tree, lifted five inches above the ground, a meaty hand digging into his chest. Yeah, this plan was going fabulously.

"Dean Winchester," the demon sneered. "The feather dusters' little hero. How about you get on your knees and start begging, and maybe I'll kill you quick."

"Why skip the foreplay?" Dean asked. "I'm not that easy."

"Hurry it up, Kal. Boss wants this resolved quick," another demon in a scrawnier meat suit piped up from behind the one that was pinning him.

"We've got time," Kal drawled, leaning closer to Dean. Although Dean couldn't see him since he'd dropped his flashlight, he imagined a wide, toad-like face. "I've always got time for fun." He felt fetid, moist breath ghost across his cheek. He grimaced, turning his head.

"Dude," Dean huffed. "Get a breath mint." He took this opportunity to break free of the demon; he let Cas's angel blade slide out of his sleeve and promptly shoved it through the demon's jaw and up through the roof of his mouth. Orange light flashed in his eyes sockets, and he promptly fell to the ground, dead as a doornail.

One down, seven to go.

The demon's swarmed him quickly, but he managed to jump up and wrap a hand around one of the lowest hanging branches of the tree. Muscles straining, he lifted his body up enough to miss most of the grabbing hands reaching for him. One of the demon's latched onto his leg. With his free limb, he kicked him hard in the face, sending him barreling away. Dean placed the grip of the angel blade in his mouth, biting down hard. With both hands now free, he was able to pull himself up onto the branch.

Dean scrambled up the massive pine tree as fast as his adrenaline-wracked body would take him, doing his best not to stumble and fall into the waiting hands of the monsters below. The demons were pursuing him, but they weren't comfortable in their vessels, and they moved at a belabored pace and with a good amount of swearing that threatened to make even Dean blush.

"Come on, Ziva," Dean muttered under his breath, his strength starting to flag as he made a risky jump from one thick branch to another. "Make with the exorcism."

As if on cue, a faint echo of a younger Sam's voice resounded from the nearby church.

_"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversari, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte, et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanus creaturas, eisque aetarnae Perditionis venenum propinare..."_

Several of the demons fell from the tree, black smoke beginning to pour from their mouths. He heard coughing, screaming - they didn't seem happy.

"Where the hell's it coming from!?" one of them shouted, enraged.

Sam's recorded voice continued in its monotonic recital. _"Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribli nomine, quem inferi tremunt. Ab insidiis diabolic, libera nos domine. Ut ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus, audi nos."_

Black smoke filled the already midnight blue sky, a giant storm cloud pooling above the trees. The cloud swirled, throbbed for a moment, then flew off to meld with the night. He heard the sound of many bodies thumping as they hit the ground. He would check to see if any of them were still alive, still able to saved. He doubted it.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and began carefully making his way down the tree. The exorcism had started just in time. If it had been any later, he would've run out of branches.

After a quick check of the now liberated meat suits, Dean was disappointed but not surprised to find that they were all quite dead, their bodies cold and pulses nonexistent. He made his way back to the church's parking lot. He saw two downed bodies by the Impala. The trunk was still hanging open, and he quickly shut it. He didn't want something nesting in baby. She'd already been through enough for one day.

Soon, Dean was banging on the front doors, which Sam had apparently locked behind him. "Hey, let me in."

There was a moment of silence before Dean heard a click on the other side, the sound of scrambling. The door opened a crack, and a hand gripping a flask appeared. Dean soon found his face doused in holy water. Wonderful. He dragged his sleeve across his face with a sigh. The door parted further, revealing Tony's drawn, pale features.

"DiNozzo," he said, somewhat exasperated. "If I was a demon, I would've been exorcised five minutes ago with the rest of them."

"I'm not ashamed to admit that the paranoia is getting to me," Tony said, stepping back so Dean could enter the foyer. "How do you live like this? If I were you, I'd think every person I met was some kind of nasty."

"We pretty much do," Dean said. Ziva and Sam were hovering behind Tony, both looking relieved to see him. "Paranoia keeps you alive. That's how Bobby's made it so long."

"Bobby did not appear to be terribly old," Ziva commented.

Dean's silence informed her that was kind of the point.

"Okay, so crisis averted," Tony said, sinking down onto one of the moth-eaten chairs in the entrance hall. "Demons are gone. You think Crowley will send more?"

"If he does, we're prepared," Sam said, slipping the little tape out of his pocket. "There's not many demons this exorcism won't take care of. Unless Crowley shows up in person, we'll be fine."

"Does Crowley need a different exorcism?" the senior field agent inquired, brow furrowed. "What makes him so special?"

"He's King of the Crossroads," Dean provided. "Tougher meat than the usual, so we need a different exorcism. Sam knows it, but Crowley would probably have a hellhound on his ass before he could get more than a few words out."

"You guys are really good at making really bad enemies," Tony observed, resting his chin on the open palm of his hand.

"Tony, you look as though you are about to collapse," Ziva commented worriedly.

"I'm fine."

"Don't kid yourself, you look like you're about to pass out," Dean said, crossing his arms and settling himself against the wall nearby, watching the NCIS agent carefully.

They had a lot riding on Tony right now. If he ended up losing consciousness, that put them in a serious predicament. Plus, on the more human side of things, he was worried about Tony's wellbeing because in the two short days he'd known him (okay, they seemed like extraordinarily long days) he'd come to like the guy. Sure, he was a little too chatty and maybe a little too keen on Ziva, who Dean found to be pretty damn hot, but he was a good man - righteous, even. It was hard to find good men.

He also noticed it was harder still to keep them alive.

"It doesn't matter how I feel," Tony muttered. "I've got a job to do." The agent's eyes darted to the side for a moment. "How long until Castiel gets back?" he asked, changing the subject easily. Dean suppressed a sigh. DiNozzo was going to run himself into the ground, at this rate.

"No clue. Depends on how willing Ameter-whatever is to give up the big bad sword and how easy she is to find," Dean replied, his thoughts drifting to Cas. He hoped the angel was fairing well on the other side of the world...

* * *

Castiel couldn't help but notice the irony of his current situation. A sun god living in a cavern system... it was certainly the last place he expected to find Ameterasu, but he'd noticed the distinct aura emanating from the Akiyoshi-dai plateau during his cursory perusal of the country. The sun god was living somewhere in the caverns - he felt that he was getting close.

His footsteps echoed in the natural corridor, his dress shoes smacking the limestone in a repetitive rhythm. His senses were spread out as far as they could reach, but he still couldn't pinpoint exactly where Ameterasu was. He silently cursed his ever-declining powers. A year ago, he would've already found the sun god, taken the Kusunagi, and been back with the Winchesters by now.

He turned the corner, and he was forced to shield his vessel's eyes from sudden, blinding light. He slowly blinked his eyes several times to try to adjust to the sunlight after being in the almost total dark of the caverns for so long. He dropped his arm, taking in the cave he'd just entered.

It was enormous - larger by far than any other anteroom in the system that he'd seen. At the zenith of the cave was an opening, only the size of a manhole cover, letting in a thin shaft of sunlight. However, a collection of mirrors standing on tall iron rods were fixed at varying intervals, bouncing the light back and forth and intensifying it enough to make the entire room seem as though it was glowing with white fire.

In the center of the room were a series of long, oak tables with a myriad of alchemical instruments resting on them, crystal calcinators and alembics, mortar and pestles of hundreds of different sizes. Everything was bubbling, sizzling, cooking. The smell of burning sage wafted towards him. Smoke hung low in the air, a thick white fog in the dazzlingly lit cavern.

An Asian woman leaned over a retort, a thin glass stirring rod pinched between two of her slender fingers. Long, black locks fell over her narrow shoulders. She wore a traditional Kimono and wooden sandals. A cherry blossom was woven into her hair, and her aura glowed like the sunset.

He'd found Ameterasu.

"I expected someone would come for the Kusunagi soon," the woman said without turning to look at him. "I sensed that Orochi had been summoned from the realm of the damned."

Castiel wasn't sure how to respond. He took several steps forward, moving cautiously. Ancient gods were often dangerous to deal with, not to mention particular resentful towards the Judeo-Christian God and His angels. He had a feeling she would spare him little favor.

"Yes," he answered slowly. "Orochi has returned. He is perhaps an even greater threat than he was during his first time on Earth."

"That is subjective," Ameterasu replied, seeming disinterested in the conversation. "However, he is dangerous, that is undeniable."

"Then you know what must be done."

The sun god pursed her lips as she turned to attend to a boiling pot of viscous purple goo. "I am not in the business of giving away anything without a price... especially not to angels." The last word was said with strong distaste.

"I am currently not affiliated with Heaven," he informed her. Hopefully his rogue status would benefit him in this endeavor.

"What are you then, hmm? One of Lucifer's? I favor him no more than I favor your Father," she said, finally glancing sideways at Castiel. Her eyes were pale orange-yellow, like flames contained within a crystal ball.

"No, I do not serve Lucifer either. I serve the human race, as angels were intended to do." He couldn't help the note of bitterness that crept into his voice.

Ameterasu seemed intrigued, now. "You have no master, then?"

"No. My allies are my equals."

"Humans?"

"Yes."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Not the ones of the prophecy? The vessels? Is that why Armageddon has yet to begin?"

Castiel nodded stiffly. "Yes. The Winchesters... the vessels... they are my friends."

Ameterasu snorted derisively. "An angel befriending humans? And I thought I'd heard everything." She shook her head, pouring the contents of the cauldron into several beakers.

Castiel's brow furrowed. They were wasting time here. "Time is of the essence. I require the Kusunagi. Are you willing to grant it to me, or will I have to take it by force?" He'd sent his angel blade to Dean when he'd sensed the trouble that the Winchesters and the NCIS agents were in, an action he was almost regretting now. Hand-to-hand combat with an ancient god was not likely to end well.

Ameterasu let out a laugh, high and pure. "As if you could," she said before giving him a contemplative glance. "I want Orochi back in the Pit as much as you do. I will give you the Kusunagi, but I request a favor in return."

"What is it that you want?"

"Angel blood is very rare, very hard to find, but incredibly valuable." She gave him a pointed look. "Three vials, angel. Three vials and I will give you the Kusunagi, on the condition that you return it as soon as you do what needs to be done."

The idea of letting a substance as dangerous as angel blood into the hands of a god with dubious motives and a resentful opinion of the Lord didn't seem like a good one, but he had little choice in the matter. If they were unable to stop Orochi, the world would end before Lucifer and Michael even had a chance to destroy it.

"Fine," Castiel agreed reluctantly.

"Fulfill your end of the bargain, then."

Castiel sighed, twirling his fingers and focusing his remaining energy. A moment later, three thin vials of crimson appeared in his hand. He appeared next to Ameterasu, holding them out to her. She took them, one at a time, and laid them carefully on the surface of one of the tables.

"Excellent," she said. "This will serve me well."

"What do you plan to use it for?"

"That would be my business and my business alone, angel."

"Enough of this. Give me the Kusunagi."

"Demanding, aren't you? But so be it." She finally stepped away from her instruments. She placed her palms together, and a pale light erupted from them. For a moment, Castiel could see nothing. The next thing he knew, there was a heavy weight around his waist.

He blinked his eyes open, looking down at his belt. An ornate sheath was attached to it. He saw an ebony handle emblazoned with gold peaking out of the sheath. He withdrew it with both hands, admiring the claymore. In the pommel was a topaz, glittering with the intense sunlight of Ameterasu's cavern. The blade flashed dangerously, its edge razor sharp.

"It is a fine weapon," she told him. "Take care of it. And clean it off when you're done, will you?"

"I will make sure it is not damaged," Castiel said, sliding it back into the sheath. "I will take my leave."

"As you should. I wish you luck in saving this world." Her tone turned sincere for a moment. "Both now, and later. I am fond of it, in spite of choosing to keep to myself."

Castiel nodded briefly before gathering himself. He had just enough energy left to return to Virginia... but it was going to be a stretch. He closed his eyes, and with a thought, he blinked out of existence.

* * *

"Hour five... how you feeling, Tony? Light headed? A little sick?" Orochi tilted his head to side, smirking at him. "You'll be dead before we finish doing this dance. I just hope you're alive long enough to watch me tear up daddy dearest here."

Tony grimaced, trying to reign in his temper. He couldn't let Orochi get to him. He was getting closer. Only three more injections after this and they'd be rid of the bastard. He just had to hold out a little longer, then he could sleep, get medical help... something. Everything after saving Gibbs seemed to stretch out into a blank.

Tony jabbed the needle into his arm, wincing as he withdrew yet another syringe of blood. He was starting to look like a junkie, with the amount of track marks around his veins.

"Oh, come on, you're not going to just ignore me, are you? So cold."

Tony briefly wondered why nobody thought to bring duct tape with them to shut up the damn demon. He moved forward. "Neck, now. No games."

"Want to know something funny?"

"Neck." He began reaching forward so he could force the demon's head to the side. However, his next words stopped Tony dead in his tracks.

"He blames you."

Tony blinked. "What?"

"Gibbs. He blames you for what happened to Jenny. Has for the past two years. If he'd had it his way, he would've had you stay an agent afloat for the rest of your career. Ziva wanted to look for her, knew something was wrong... but you just didn't care, did you? And because of you, she got gunned down. Dead before she hit forty." Orochi smirked with Gibbs's mouth. "Oh, he really loved her. First woman he loved since that pretty wife of his kicked off. Love of his life, really, and you let her get shot full of holes..."

"Shut up."

"Really, considering all that..." Orochi snorted. "I'm not surprised that he hates you."


	18. Dear Tragedy

"Really, considering all that... I'm not surprised that he hates you."

Tony stiffened, ice dropping into the pit of his stomach. "The only one who blames me for Jenny's death is _me_."

"Oh? You think so?" the demon taunted with a look of mock innocence.

"I know so."

"Which one of us is in his head again?" Orochi asked, grinning at him. Tony closed his eyes, trying to reign in the current of rage that had begun flowing through him and itching at his skin. It would not do for him to lose control right now; the demon would only use it against him. No matter how much he hated Orochi, he was still in Gibbs's body, and he'd be damned if he was going to hurt Gibbs.

Tony stabbed the syringe into the side of Orochi's neck. The demon winced, a low growl in his throat. "You're not going to be in his head much longer," Tony told him in a low voice, refusing to meet his stolen eyes.

"Oh, we'll see about that." The demon cracked its neck, eyes flashing pitch black. "You're gonna end up just like him, Tony... _alone_. You killed poor McGee, eventually Ziva will get bored of you, bored of playing by the rules, and she'll be on her merry way back to Mossad. And Gibbs here, well, in fifteen hours he's going to be a puddle on the ground."

Tony turned his back on the demon, pocketing the now empty syringe. He wasn't playing his game, not anymore. "See you in an hour." He strolled out of the sanctuary, slamming the heavy doors shut behind him. Ziva, Sam, and Dean looked up when he walked in, all wearing matching expressions of concern. He was sick of being looked at like that.

"Is everything alright?" Sam asked. Tony nodded, but said nothing, stalking past Ziva and the Winchesters. He knew he couldn't leave the church while the ritual was still being performed, but he didn't want to be surrounded by people just now. Not when he felt himself about to fall of the edge that he'd been teetering on all day.

He treaded up the stairs, the numerous injuries he'd collected throughout the day throbbing with each step that he climbed. He heard Ziva's footsteps and her hesitantly calling out his name, but then he heard Dean quietly telling her to let him go. He mentally thanked the older Winchester. He needed to be alone.

The church was small, and the second floor had only three rooms. One led to a prayer room, the other to the belfry. He didn't know where the third led. He opened up the door and slipped inside, letting it shut gently behind him. The room was small and almost completely empty except for an old mahogany desk with a dusty gold name plate sitting on it. Sterling, it read. This must've been the pastor's office, when the church had still been in operation.

Hazy moonlight streamed in through a small window behind the desk. One of the panes was cracked, so the room was ice cold with a mid-winter chill. He could hear the waves beating against the shore of the beach, and thunder rumbling in the distance. A storm was coming. How appropriate.

It was something McGee would've put in one of his novels.

Tony realized with a jolt that there would be no more _Deep Six_ books - and for some reason, that was the final thing that pushed him too far. That's what broke the last pillar that was holding up his composure. Because this was all too much, because the entire world had changed in the course of two days, because he killed his best friend and Gibbs was possessed by a demon and they had the forces of Heaven and Hell after them and goddamnit McGee wasn't going to write any more of those _stupid fucking books_ -

He let his fist fly into the plaster of the dusty wall, and a chunk crumbled away under the force of his punch. Before he even had time to register the splitting pain in his knuckles, he pulled back and punched the wall again. And again. And again. It was the only way he knew to let it out, the only way he'd ever known how to truly deal with what he felt. He wore his mask and fought like a good little soldier, but his own personal demons didn't leave him just because he put up a front of coping.

After Kate was killed and Ari was dealt with, Tony had broken almost all of the knuckles on both of his hands on the heavy bag in the NCIS gym. Gibbs had stopped him before he had done even more damage to himself, but by the time he'd got there, blood was already dripping down the crevices of Tony's palms, staining his skin.

Just like now.

Only this time, Gibbs wasn't here to stop him. No one was.

He continued his assault on the wall, and dry wall was caking on his hands along with smeared blood. Every hit sent a jolt of agony through his hands and up his forearms, but he didn't care. For the first time since they'd gone to Lance Corporal Belisarius's apartment the morning before, his mind was empty. Blissfully, wonderfully, empty, all except for the pure, unrestrained anger running through every inch of him.

Anger, at the very least, was something he could understand.

Time had no meaning, just the wall and the repeated motion of his fists. He heard a sharp crack - one of his fingers breaking, undoubtedly. He couldn't find it in himself to care. He was gasping for air, strained to the point where his vision was beginning to swim, but he didn't care, he just didn't care, didn't-

"Stop." He felt large hands close around his wrists, stopping him before he could attack the wall again. It was covered in numerous dents, now, and a small pile of plaster had formed at his feet. Tony didn't register who it was, and he tried to struggle against the grip, but he couldn't. He was too weak and the person behind him was too strong.

He weakly realized that it must be Sam; the sasquatch was the only person he knew with hands that big. He let his arms drop, but Sam was still holding his wrists, apparently not trusting enough to let go just yet.

"You're going to collapse if you keep going like this," Sam said quietly. "And don't you think you've had enough injuries for one day?"

Tony couldn't think of a response, so he remained silent. After a long moment, Sam released him. Tony turned to face him, the room spinning. He didn't know whether it was from blood loss, exhaustion, or pain. He found that it didn't really matter to him. He leaned back against the wall he'd just given a thorough beating and slid to the ground, arms resting on his knees. He stared at Sam's feet.

"What did Orochi say to you?" Sam asked, almost gentle in his tone.

Tony didn't look up. "It doesn't matter."

"Well, considering you just completely flew off the handle, I'd say, yeah, it kind of does," Sam pointed out. Tony shook his head.

"It's just mind games. I shouldn't have let him get to me."

"Mind games are a demon's stock and trade," Sam said. "Trust me, I know from personal experience. It's almost impossible not to let them get to you."

Tony felt a faint hint of curiosity as to what Sam's personal experience was, but decided not to push it. "If I screw this up, Gibbs... he'll die. I have to be..." he trailed off, searching for the right words. "I have to be stronger than this."

"Tony," the hunter said his name as almost a command. Tony reluctantly glanced up at him, having to crane his neck to look him in the eye. "Cas says you're a righteous man. The only other righteous man I've ever met is my brother, and if you're cut from the same cloth as he is..." Almost subconsciously, Sam brushed a lock of chestnut hair out of his face. "Well, Dean's the strongest person I've ever met."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out when he did a suicide run into a crowd of demons," Tony muttered.

Sam sighed. "The point is... just the blood you've got running through you is enough to save Gibbs. The very stuff you're made of is meant to get rid of demons. You're strong, Tony, and you can do this. And I know what happened earlier, what it's doing to you, it feels like you've got hundred pound weights on your shoulders - but you'll be able to get through this. You're gonna save Gibbs. I know it."

Tony's eyebrows arched, thoroughly surprised by Sam's words. And perplexed, as well. "Why do you have so much faith in me, huh, Hagrid? You just met me."

Sam's eyes dimmed a bit, and his lips thinned. "After everything that's happened in the past few months, I... I need to have faith in something." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Plus, if someone's got to give you a pep talk, I'm probably the best candidate. You're a lot like Dean, Tony, and I've had to talk him away from the cliff more times than I really like to think about."

Tony couldn't decide just yet if being compared to Dean Winchester was a good thing or a bad thing. "Oh, what, did you guys draw straws or something?" he asked, feeling his composure slowly but surely returning to him. He'd tired himself out so much from his fit (was there really a better word for it?) that he was too exhausted to feel anything particularly strongly.

"No," Sam responded. "Ziva tried to come up, Dean stopped her. I tried to come up, he tried to stop me." He gave Tony a little smirk. "I didn't listen."

"What a rebel," Tony commended. He felt a surge of gratitude towards Sam. He opened his mouth to say more, but just then, a rock came sailing through one of the empty panes of the window, landing in between the two of them. Sam and Tony looked at each other. "Not good?" he asked.

"Probably not," Sam replied.

"Hey!" a gravelly voice called from outside. Castiel. Both of them relaxed visibly and went to the window to look outside. Castiel stood below, barely visible in the darkness.

"Cas," Sam called. "You get the sword?"

"Yes. Remove the angel warding so I can come inside."

"What about Zachariah?"

"If he hasn't returned already, I doubt that he's going to," Cas responded. "He'll probably refrain from interfering until we've taken care of Orochi. I assume the demons have been dealt with?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the angel blade, by the way." Sam glanced at Tony. "Let's go deal with the warding."

"We'll let you in a sec, Castiel," Tony yelled down to the angel. There was no response, but he assumed that he'd been heard. The two of them exited the pastor's office and made their way down the stairs to scratch out the angel warding so they could let Cas back into the church.

* * *

The next few hours passed by in a blur. Once the angel warding was wiped away and Castiel was allowed back into the church, he showed them the Kusunagi - a heavy claymore that looked to be worth more than Tony had made in his entire lifetime. Castiel said that he would be the one to use it on Orochi, given that he made more experience with swords than Tony did.

After that, Dean had quietly taken Tony into the bathroom and wrapped his knuckles with a field surgeon kit that Castiel had grabbed out of the Impala for them. He didn't say anything, just washed out his wounds and bandaged them with surprising care. He wasn't sure if the look Dean gave him when he finished was one of pity or understanding. Or perhaps both.

Castiel then spent the next two hours (in between administering the sixth and seventh doses to Orochi) teaching Tony the Latin exorcism he would have to recite to remove the demon from Gibbs's body and making him practice the sigil he'd have to carve into his boss's chest. Although the thought alone made him feel ill, he knew it had to be done.

When he went to administer the next two injections, he didn't speak to Orochi, though the demon tried to goad him. He was flanked by Castiel on both occasions, and the angel made sure to get him in and out of there with due speed. If Tony let the demon's words get to him, he was pretty sure he'd just completely snap.

In what seemed like both a blink of an eye and an eternity, the clock was striking midnight in more ways than one, and it was time for the final injection.

Tony pushed through the double doors to the dilapidated sanctuary once more, his strength flagging so badly at his point that even that minor effort made the room spin. He'd lost so much blood over the course of the day, both from his injuries and the injections, that he didn't even know how he was standing upright anymore.

Castiel, Dean, Sam, and Ziva all followed in a line behind him. It was time to end this.

Orochi was stock still in the high backed chair when they arrived. Any snark the demon previously held had completely evaporated, now. With eyes as black as night, he glared at Tony, jaw twitching. "I'll destroy you for this."

"Yeah," Tony said, removing the last syringe from his pocket. He glared right back at the demon. "Bite me." His hands were shaking badly. He hoped that he wouldn't miss his vein-

A small, dark skinned hand closed over his. Ziva's. "Hold still," she said, taking the needle from him and gently wrapping her hand around his wrist, extending his arm. She pressed the needle down and it bit into his skin. She pulled back on the plunger, and it filled with crimson. Tony swallowed.

"Show time," he said, stepping forward.

"Inject him," Castiel ordered. Tony took another step. He fisted a hand in the silver strands of Gibbs's hair, mentally apologizing to his boss, and jerked his head to the side, revealing the pale skin of his neck and the seven bloody track marks already there. Tony stabbed the syringe into Orochi's neck and pushed.

As he removed the needle, Orochi let out a scream, throwing his head back, body writhing in his bonds. "I will rip of your skin strip by strip and feed it to you, you insolent little bag of pus!" he yelled, back arching.

"What horror movie did you steal that from?" Tony asked as Dean slipped his demon knife out of his pocket and handed it to Tony, who accepted it. He slit open the front of Gibbs's blue polo shirt and the plain white t-shirt underneath it. He pulled each half to the side, revealing the older agent's chest. Orochi's eyes were flashing rapidly from black back to Gibbs's standard shade of ice blue.

"I know your heart, Anthony DiNozzo," the demon said slowly, venom in his words. "And I've felt your blood in my veins. Don't think for a second that this will ever be over for you."

"Start the exorcism," Cas said. Tony nodded, drawing the Latin phrase and Enochian sigil from his memory. He cut his hand open, soaking the blade with his blood as per Castiel's instructions. He then bent over and touched the blade to Gibbs's bare skin.

_"Et vade, serpentum in tenebris, reddo ut regni damnatis,"_ he whispered, the unfamiliar words feeling heavy on his tongue. _"Poteste dividi in octo, et draconi qui voluerit a simplicitate et castitate animae humanae. Ut abominationonem hanc, egredere de terra in aeternum,"_ he continued, Orochi bucking underneath the bite of the demon knife, growling in pain. Tony hoped that Gibbs couldn't feel any of this. He finished the sigil and drew back, taking a deep breath. _"Hunc atque mundaberis, renati in lucem, et auferes malum. Ut sit libertas. Et vade, introductio tenebrarum."_

"Finish it," Castiel said. Taking a deep breath, Tony raised his still bleeding hand.

"Now," Tony said. "Get the hell out of my boss, you son of a bitch."

He slammed his hand into the sigil, and Orochi threw his head back again, screaming out. Intense blue light exploded out from the sigil, and Tony was forced to duck his head and close his eyes against the brilliance. When he opened his eyes again, acrid black smoke was pouring out of Gibbs's mouth, filling the air above them with the demon's essence. It was channeled through the connection between the two sigils and into the second devil's trap that Cas had drawn earlier that day.

Orochi's smoke form congealed and pulsed, eventually condensing into its physical form. It screeched, red eyes glowing in the dim light of the sanctuary. Castiel was ready for the demon, the Kusunagi already out of its sheath. The angel raised it above his head with inhuman strength before bringing it down on Orochi. With a thick, squelching sound, the demon was split in two, and its separate halves disintegrated into pools of black goo.

A faint. shrill scream echoed throughout the abandoned church, and just like that, it was over.

Tony dropped the demon blade on the ground with a clatter, and he put one hand on the side of Gibbs's face and the other on his neck, feeling desperately for a pulse. "Come on, boss, come _on_..." He felt Ziva's presence at his side, saw her turn over one of Gibbs's bound wrists, feeling for a pulse there.

Tony felt no beat underneath the older agent's skin. Just cool, damp flesh. "Ziva, tell me you feel something," he almost begged. He practically dug in his fingers into his boss's pulse point. Still nothing. "Damn it, boss, don't do this, don't do this to us, not now, not after all of this..."

Tony felt a tear trail down his cheek.


	19. Playing For Keeps

"No, no, no," Tony breathed out, shaking his head. He couldn't bring himself to remove his hand from Gibbs's throat, still hoping to feel some sign of life. There had to be something, he just needed to be patient. It shouldn't end like this, _couldn't_ end like this. The universe didn't have the right to take half of his family away from him in one day.

He felt Ziva's hand on his shoulder. "Tony-"

"He's not dead!" Tony insisted, hands framing Gibbs's face and lifting the older agent's head, which had previously been lolled against his chest. "Come on, boss, wake up, wake up! Slap me on the back of the head, grunt something, drink coffee, just get the hell out of this chair and... and... God, please _just don't be dead_."

He received no response. He pinched his eyes shut for a moment, and he felt tears burning wet paths down the cold skin of his cheeks.

Then, Tony heard sounds of slow clapping from behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ziva whirl around, slipping her SIG out of her holster. Tony reluctantly released Gibbs, turning to face the newcomer.

Standing by the entrance to the sanctuary was a man of medium height, dressed in a fine all-black suit. He had dark green eyes and swath of neatly kept brown hair. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, seeming nonplussed by the guns that Sam, Dean, and Ziva were pointing at him, nor the angel with the giant claymore glaring at him with open malice.

"Well done. You managed to get rid of the big bad demon and save the world. Three cheers for the conquering heroes," he said, one of his eyebrows arching. His voice was like gravel, his accent English.

"About damn time you dragged your slimy ass in here," Dean replied, pointing his sawed-off directly at the man's head.

"That's no way to greet a guest, now is it?" the man asked, smirking slightly before he flicked his wrist. Dean was promptly sent flying across the room.

_Great, another demon,_ Tony thought. Things were going from bad to worse. They kill Orochi, and then they get this guy instead.

"Apparently Irena and her pet weren't as capable as I took them to be," he continued, raising his hand so it was on the level with his chest. "Time to bring in my own, I suppose."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that this is the King of the Crossroads you guys mentioned?" Tony asked. The demon's eyes slid to him, and they flashed blood-red for a brief moment. So, this was Crowley.

"You've seen my stage show," he said before patting the air. It sounded like there was something there. Then, Tony heard the sound of a dog panting, and he saw slobber leaving moist droplets on the floor. "I'll just have to have my pup here take care of you permanently."

"Invisible dog... great..." Tony muttered.

"Hellhounds," Dean said, by way of explanation. "Fuck, why did it have to be _hellhounds_?"

"Stop!" Castiel barked, voice echoing in the desolate sanctuary. "If you kill them, I'll just bring them back!"

Crowley let out a short laugh. "Yeah, see, here's the rub with that... from what I hear, you're no longer in the good graces of the boys upstairs. You and I both know you don't have the juice to bring them back. You can't stand up to me now, not with your gas tank running on empty."

Sam turned to the angel, lowering his voice. "Cas, he's right. If you've got enough mojo left, take Tony and Ziva and get out of here."

"You don't need to die with us," Dean added, seeming resigned to their fate. Tony felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. If Dean and Sam were convinced of their imminent death, he didn't like their current odds. It's not like he would be of much help in a fight, anyway.

Castiel's blue eyes bounced between the two brothers. "Did you lie to me, Dean?" he asked abruptly, brow creasing.

Dean looked taken aback. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You told me... you said that we were friends," Castiel said. "From what I know, friends do not abandon each other." He looked pointedly at Dean. "I will not leave you."

"Oh, how touching," Crowley drawled, rolling his eyes. "I'm afraid I'll have to cut this Hallmark moment short." The demon straightened his shoulders, taking a deep breath. "SIC 'EM, BOY!" he yelled. The invisible monster next to him let out a sharp howl before Tony heard the scratching of its claws on the stone floor as it raced towards Dean.

Castiel went to block the hellhound's path, but Crowley waved his hand, and Castiel was blasted out of one of the stained glass windows.

"Ziva!" Dean tossed Ziva his demon-killing knife, which he'd picked up off the floor where Tony had left it.

She caught it by the handle in mid-air, pivoting on the spot and throwing it directly at Crowley's head. Crowley disappeared from where he was standing and reappeared next to Ziva. Sam was scrambling for the knife as Ziva attempted to land a punch to Crowley's throat. He dodged easily, grabbing her arm and snapping it like it was a twig.

She screamed, sending a pang of terror through Tony's chest, and without further hesitation, Crowley swung her into a nearby wall. Her head smacked against the concrete, and she was knocked out cold. Damn it. They'd just lost their best fighter. Sam grabbed the demon blade and headed back towards his brother, who was running backwards and shooting at empty air with his sawed-off shotgun.

Crowley seemed to be enjoying the show. Enraged, Tony dived for the Kusunagi, which Castiel had dropped when Crowley had chucked him out the window. If the Kusunagi could kill Orochi, it could kill Crowley, right? Tony darted forward as fast as he could. His world was still spinning from his excessive blood loss. Before he could strike Crowley with the claymore, the demon held open his hand, fire bursting to life in his palm.

Without hesitation, he grabbed Tony's wrist, causing the skin to bubble and boil underneath the demon's grip. Tony groaned, dropping the sword with a clatter. Crowley then twisted his hand in a sharp motion, and Tony felt the bones in his wrist break. He let out a shout as Crowley shoved him away. Tony dropped to the ground, blackness creeping in on the edge of his vision.

"Pathetic," Crowley said, before kicking the Kusunagi to the side. "And nice try, but that weapon's tailor made to kill Orochi, not yours truly."

Tony heard an exclamation from Dean. "Having fun over there?" Crowley called.

Tony lifted his head to see that Dean was pinned to the ground by an invisible force. The hunter was wrestling with the hellhound, flipping over and over as he tried to fight off the beast with the butt of his shotgun.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled, jumping on where he thought the hellhound was. He missed, and Dean and the creature rolled away. Sam started slashing around blindly with the demon-killing knife, his eyes desperate. Dean groaned as the front of his shirt was ripped away, blood spurting from lacerations on his chest.

"SAM!" Dean screamed in agony, his voice cracking as another deep cut appeared on his chest.

"Not again, not again, not again!" Sam chanted, though Tony didn't know what he meant by that. He continued slashing, and he heard a dog whimpering. It left Dean for a moment, only to tackle Sam to the ground. Dean, bleeding badly, struggled up. He fired off a round at where he thought the hound was, but the dent in the stone floor indicated that he had misjudged.

Tony heard the sound of wood snapping and chains breaking from next to him, distracting him from the intense battle that he was struggling to figure out how to assist with. He turned is head. The chair Gibbs had previously occupied was empty.

"What the-" he heard Crowley burst out, but his exclamation was cut short. Tony whirled to look at the demon, and was shocked to see Gibbs alive, awake, and holding up the Crossroads King by the collar, dangling him several inches off of the ground.

_Alive... he's alive!_

Crowley struggled in Gibbs's grip, his features twisting in irritation, face turning red as his vessel was deprived of oxygen.

"Call off the dog. Now," Gibbs demanded. Crowley snapped his fingers frantically. The sound of panting returned, and the invisible hound appeared to have let up on Sam, who sat up immediately, a bloody scratch across his cheek and several on his arms. He went for Dean, who had a pool of blood steadily forming on his chest.

"Put me _down_!" Crowley snarled, his lip curling.

"Not happening," Gibbs responded. "Not until that dog is gone." Before Crowley could reply, however, Sam lunged at the still hellhound with the demon-killing knife, this time making an accurate judgment of where the dog was. Blood sprayed from a spot in mid-air, and the hellhound let out a howl of pain. A thud soon followed.

"Taken care of," Sam declared, out of breath.

"Bollocks," Crowley cursed. "Do you have any idea how much work it takes to breed a hellhound that size?" Gibbs gave him a look that said in no uncertain terms that he didn't really care. Tony just continued to stare at his boss. He was dead... he was supposed to be _dead_... but yet, here he was. Had he really succeeded in saving Gibbs, then?

"Gibbs..." he whispered, not entirely meaning to. Gibbs turned his head to look at him, blue eyes looking several shades darker than usual.

"You alright, DiNozzo?" he asked.

"Boss... you're alive..."

"What the hell are you?" Crowley asked, cutting off Tony before he could say anymore. Gibbs's gaze returned to the demon just as Castiel stumbled back into the sanctuary, looking rather the worse for wear.

"He's part demon," Castiel provided, brushing shards of glass from his trench coat.

"What!?" the Winchester brothers and Tony asked in unison. Oh, he didn't like the sound of that.

"As I mentioned before, twenty four hours of preparation is required before Orochi's essence has seeped into its intended victim enough for it to be able to harvest their soul and consume the body. Even after the ritual and the transfusion of Tony's blood, Orochi's essence has still permanently altered Gibbs, into a state where he has power roughly comparable to that of a relatively powerful demon while still maintaining his humanity," Castiel explained as his eyes combed over the room. He didn't seem to like what he saw.

Tony figured that as an angel, Castiel could see the hellhound, even if he and the others couldn't. So, dead hellhound, knocked out Ziva, Tony, Dean, and Sam injured, and Gibbs holding up the King of the Crossroads by the collar of his fancy suit.

"Any particular reason you didn't tell us this before, Cas?" Dean asked, voice strained as he massaged the wounds on his chest. Castiel's gaze fixed on Dean and he went to his friend, bending down to heal his wounds. Dean stopped him. "Hey, you're running low on mojo. I'll be fine."

"You are bleeding internally. I would not call that fine," Castiel retorted as he passed a hand over Dean's chest and stomach. His injuries disappeared as if they had never been there at all. Cas's shoulders drooped from the expended energy. Tony vaguely hoped that Cas could do the same for his wrist and jaw at some point in the near future. "And I didn't inform you before because I wasn't sure if it would actually happen or not."

"There's your answer," Gibbs said to Crowley before leaning closer to the demon, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If you touch any of them... I'll end you." Dean coughed and sat up, examining his now unblemished chest.

"Doesn't work like that Gibbs, you can't just kill him. You can maim the crap out of him though, so that's a plus."

Crowley looked past Gibbs, directing his next words to Dean and Sam. "I called off my dog, now you call off yours."

"Not happening," Sam said with a shake of his head.

Dean considered Crowley with a pensive stare. "Cas, why can't he just zap himself out of here?"

"Gibbs's powers seem to be suppressing Crowley's, for the time being." Castiel tilted his head. "This is a unique ability."

Dean smirked. "Even better."

Crowley coughed slightly, gathering the room's attention. "Let's look at your options here, shall we? You can let me go, or you can stand here and hold me by the throat for the rest of eternity to keep me from killing Rocky and Bullwinkle."

"If you kill us, the angels will just bring us back so Michael and Lucifer can still duke it out," Dean reasoned, rising to his feet with Sam's help.

"That's exactly why I had the blasted Orochi summoned!" Crowley burst out, temper flaring. "So your souls would be out of the picture, and the angels couldn't just glue you back together."

"And so you could orchestrate your own apocalypse, usurp Lucifer, and take control over Hell," Castiel added on flatly.

"Darling, I'm a demon, did you really expect my motives to be pure? And I didn't want another apocalypse. I was going to sic Orochi on Lucifer, and once that was done, I would've taken care of him myself. I don't want the end of the world. Humanity is a very lucrative source of business for me, and I'm not about to give it up."

"So, now that Irena's dead and Orochi's gone, you've got no way to kill us for good," Sam said, crossing his arms and leveling a defiant glare at the Crossroads demon. Tony pushed himself off of the ground, cradling his broken wrist, which was throbbing relentlessly.

"Ah, yes, but I figure if I tear the two of you into itty-bitty little pieces, even the tree toppers can't piece you back together," Crowley replied.

Sam looked at Dean. "He makes a good point."

Dean nodded. "He does."

Sam twirled the demon-killing knife between his fingers. "Here's our counter-argument. How about we kill you and save us all some trouble?" Crowley's eyes darted down the inscription on the side of the knife and then widened, seeming to understand fully what it was.

"Now, now, let's not be too hasty here-" Sam and Dean moved forward, seeming happy that they would be able to get rid of the demon that had caused them so much trouble. Personally, Tony wished he could do the honors himself. Orochi's summoning was all on this smarmy bastard, since Irena was dead. If there was someone to blame for McGee's death, other than himself, obviously, it was Crowley.

"Gibbs, you mind moving aside?" Dean asked politely. "Wouldn't want you to get any of his blood on you." Gibbs promptly dropped Crowley, but grabbed the demon's arm, making sure to maintain contact with him so that his powers would still be suppressed. Gibbs offered him to Sam and Dean, and Crowley's eyes widened significantly. He held up his hands, trying to back up, but Gibbs restrained him.

"Will you wait just a bloody minute?"

"Sorry, you lost your time-out when you sicced the hellhound on me," Dean growled, something dark flashing in his eyes. Sam passed him the knife wordlessly.

"I'll make you a deal!"

"We're done with deals."

"Not you, you lumberjack - _you_ ," Crowley said, nodding towards Gibbs. "You want your agent back, don't you? McGee, right?"

Gibbs stilled at Crowley's words, and Sam and Dean exchanged a worried glance. Tony's heart jumped slightly in his chest. There was a way to get McGee back? But if Castiel couldn't bring him back, then how the hell could _Crowley_...?

"You could bring him back?" Gibbs asked.

"Gibbs, don't listen to him, he'll do anything to get out of this-" Sam began, but Crowley cut him off.

"Ah-ah-ah, the man asked a question," Crowley said, holding up a hand. "And yes, I can bring him back. Hell, I'll even throw in safety from me for the Winchesters as an added bonus. All you have to do is let me go, and then give me a little boost so I can bring your man up - or down, depending - and back to Earth," he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Here, let me translate," Dean said. "That means you've got to give him your soul. We explained Crossroads deals to you, Gibbs. That puts an expiration date on the bottom of your foot. Ten years, and the hounds come for you and drag you down to Hell." Dean's lip trembled slightly. "And that's it. The rest of eternity in the Pit."

"Actually, bit of a correction there. I've revised my terms," Crowley said. "Since the apocalypse is on, I've shortened my soul deals to two years. Reap the benefits before the seas of blood, I'm sure you understand."

To Tony's terror, Gibbs seemed to be actually considering the offer. "Boss, don't even think about doing this!" he shouted, but Gibbs didn't seem to hear him. No, he couldn't let Gibbs do this. Sell his soul? Oh, hell no, not after all of this, they weren't going to let Crowley get off this easy.

"I'll bring him back, right as rain. He gets to live another forty, fifty years. Get married, have 2.5 kids, a dog and a yard. On top of that, I won't eviscerate the Winchesters and feed their entrails to crows. All I need in return is just one little soul, and then you let me go. It's the deal of a lifetime."

"Don't do this," Dean warned. "If you have any ounce of trust in me or Sam, don't do this, Gibbs."

"This isn't about trust," Gibbs responded distantly, and Tony could almost hear the unsaid end of the sentence: _This is about family._


	20. Dirty Little Secret

"Do you want to know how our dad died?" Sam burst out abruptly.

Gibbs turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. Something dangerous flashed in Dean's eyes, and he opened his mouth, but then eventually shut it, letting him continue - much to Sam's shock. Dad was territory they didn't tread in if they could avoid it.

"He sold his soul to a demon to save Dean. Dean hasn't been the same since that happened." Dean looked at him with a mixture of surprise and maybe a hint of hurt. "It destroyed him, knowing that Dad gave up his life for him. He felt like he killed Dad - he went completely off the rails."

"Thanks, Sam," Dean grumbled.

"You know it's true!" Sam replied. Gibbs was staring at him quietly, in a way that reminded him a little bit of Castiel. "Then, a year later, Dean turned around and did the same for me. I was killed, stabbed in the spine, and he sold his soul to a Crossroads demon so I would be brought back. For an entire year, we tried to figure out a way to get Dean out of his deal, but we couldn't." Sam swallowed, memories he didn't want to face playing through his mind. The sound of panting dogs, Dean with his torso reduced to bloody shreds... burying Dean in a lonely field in Pontiac as the sun rose. "I watched Dean get ripped apart by hellhounds, and there was nothing that I could do."

Dean cleared his throat. "Sam-"

"What's dead should stay dead," Sam said, hoping desperately that he would be able to convince the NCIS agent not to do this. It wasn't worth it. It _wasn't_.

"Except when it's your little brother... right Dean?" Crowley asked, nodding his head towards Dean. "This one doesn't have any regrets about selling his soul for Gigantor over there, and he had half the time I'm giving you."

"Do you want McGee to feel like he killed you?" Sam challenged. "What if the hounds come for you when you're with him? Do you want to subject him to seeing you die and feeling like it was because of him?"

"Sam and Dean are right," Castiel said, speaking for the first time in quite awhile. "This is unwise."

Gibbs was silent for a long moment. Sam glanced sideways, seeing that Tony was staring at his boss pleadingly, shaking his head slightly. He was cradling his broken wrist in his hand, and tears were shining in his eyes, though he didn't let them fall. He was gasping for breath and looked a step away from passing out from blood loss. The agent was truly on his last legs.

"Don't," Tony managed. "Don't do this." Sam could see the conflict raging inside of Tony. He knew that if Gibbs did this, he would get his best friend back, but in two years' time he would lose the man that was like a father to him. Gibbs remained silent for a long moment. "Boss..." Tony pleaded again.

"Go on," Crowley encouraged. "Indulge your inner altruist. McGee, he's so young. He deserves another chance, doesn't he?"

"Gibbs, stop this now," Dean growled from next to him.

Sam wordlessly prayed that Gibbs wouldn't make the same mistake that Dean had. That their father had. But Crowley's greatest talent was persuasion... and Gibbs, demon-like powers or not, was still human...

"I want safety for my team," Gibbs told Crowley. The demon nodded swiftly.

"Not a problem. I won't lay a hand on them."

There was a moment of thick silence; no one moved.

"It's a deal," Gibbs said evenly, breaking the quiet. Crowley allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk and straightened his suit.

"Shall we make it official, then?" Gibbs looked confused for a moment before the manner of sealing a Crossroads deal seemed to come back to him. He didn't look thrilled. Crowley grinned as Gibbs reluctantly released the demon's arm and moved to stand in front of him. "Pucker-up, buttercup," Crowley quipped, placing a hand on the back of Gibbs's neck and dragging him down into a possessive kiss.

"Ew," Dean and Tony chorused.

Sam just felt sick. Self-sacrifice. It wasn't noble. He hadn't thought it noble when Dean sold his soul for him, he'd thought it cowardly, because Dean was terrified of living without him, and honestly, he couldn't help but think that right now as well. Gibbs didn't want to live with the guilt of knowing that there was something he could've done to bring McGee back, but didn't. And now this... _damn it._

After a few moments, Crowley pulled back, eyebrow quirking up. "Coffee and bourbon. Interesting." Gibbs rolled his eyes in mild disgust, stepping back from the demon.

"Is it done?" he asked shortly. Crowley tilted his head in confirmation.

"Set in stone. See you in two years, darling." He flicked his dark eyes to Sam and Dean. "You got lucky this time, boys. Have fun destroying the world." In a blink, Crowley vanished.

There was a thick silence after the demon departed. Dean just sighed, sounding almost disappointed, and went to attend to Ziva. Sam helped Tony to his feet. The NCIS agent looked furious, but also confused.

"Well, where's McGee, then? Is he just gonna pop out of nowhere?" Tony asked. Sam put a steadying hand on Tony's shoulder. He was really teetering on the edge if how violently he shook under Sam's touch was any indication. The other man leaned heavily on Sam, breath coming in painful inhales and ragged exhales. Dean came to stand beside him, Ziva's unconscious form cradled in his arms. Tony's eyes flicked to her worriedly.

"His body is at the Navy Yard, in autopsy. I can only assume that's where he is now," Castiel informed them.

"What are we waiting for then?" Gibbs asked. Tony shook off Sam's hand and stalked towards his boss on unsteady legs. Without any hesitation, Tony slapped him hard on the back of the head with his good hand. Gibbs spun around quickly, glaring at his agent. Before he could say anything, Tony cut him off.

"What the hell were you thinking!?"

"DiNozzo-"

"You just made a deal with a _demon_ , a deal that means in two years you get a one-way ticket on the highway to Hell! I've seen a lot of idiotic self-sacrifice, but this... oh, this just takes the friggin' cake! How do you think the others are going to react-"

" _Enough_." Tony immediately fell silent. The tone Gibbs used on his agent reminded Sam of when their father had used that voice, the _Dad Voice_ , the voice that put the fear of God into both himself and Dean and immediately silenced them. It's effect on Tony was similar. "You're not going to tell anyone about this, is that clear?"

Gibbs wanted to save McGee from the guilt he would feel if he found out how he was brought back to life. Sam assumed the warning was meant for all of them. He didn't like the idea of lying to McGee about how he was resurrected, but he also didn't want to put the young agent through the same thing he felt after Dean had sold his own soul. Tony was quiet for a moment before he responded.

"I thought teams didn't keep secrets from each other." There was a challenge hiding in his words, but Gibbs said nothing. His icy glare spoke for him. "Fine... _boss_." The two men faced each other, and Sam could read the tension and anger between them. He heard Dean sigh from next to him.

"Let's just hit the road." There were nods around the room, and they departed, Castiel trailing close behind. The angel said he had business to take care of, and without another word, he disappeared. He took Ziva from Dean, and Sam and Tony filed into the back of the Impala while Gibbs took the passenger seat.

The car ride back to NCIS was almost as morbid as the one that had first led them to the lonely chapel on the shoreline. Only this time, mercifully, the darkness seemed to tug at Tony and drag him in - sleep swallowed him before they were more than five miles from the church.

Sam could only imagine that his dreams were haunted by red-eyes, invisible monsters, and black smoke.

* * *

_I'm cold._

It was his first thought. His first feeling. He was unbelievably cold, cold from the inside out. He slowly opened his eyes, but all he saw was darkness. He lifted his hands, feeling around him, and it was cold steel. Where was he? He shivered violently. God, he was so, _so_ cold. And... naked. Why was he naked?

He tried to turn, but the space was too narrow. Frustrated, he banged on one of the sides of the steel box he was inside of. His mind slowly began to become more coherent and the haze of unconsciousness began to clear. This seemed familiar... _oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!_

"Autopsy," he said out loud, his voice echoing inside of the steel drawer. "Oh God, I'm in autopsy." Frantic, he banged his fists loudly on the sides of the drawer, panic rising in his chest. "DUCKY! DUCKY! LET ME OUT OF HERE!" His mind struggled to remember what happened to him, to figure out why he was here. Did they think he was dead? "DUCKY! PALMER! SOMEBODY!"

He heard muffled foot steps. Someone was coming! The autopsy drawer was ripped open with a jolt, and McGee gasped when the light hit his eyes, searing his retinas. He held up an arm that was shaking violently from the cold, shielding his eyes from the harsh onslaught of fluorescence.

McGee heard what he assumed was some kind of Gaelic curse. "Timothy!"

"D-Ducky, help me out of here! Why am I here? Oh, God, just let me out!" he sputtered, his mind desperately trying to figure out what was going on. This was too vivid to be some awful dream... Ducky quickly gripped him by the shoulders and almost frantically hauled him out of the autopsy drawer, helping steady him as his freezing and shaking legs didn't really want to support him at the moment. The medical examiner gaped at him openly.

"H-how?" Ducky managed. "My dear boy, how are you alive?" Ducky's eyes went to his chest, widening in shock. McGee looked down and was surprised to see a large y-shaped scar on his chest.

"Ducky... that's not..."

"I'm afraid it is," Ducky said, brows tugged down in bare-faced confusion. "Don't misunderstand me, Timothy, it is fantastic to see you alive... but _how_?"

McGee's brow furrowed and tilted his head. "I was _dead_?"

"You don't remember what transpired in Anacostia, then?"

"Anacostia..." McGee trailed off, closing his eyes as a surge of memories rose to greet him. A plume of inky black smoke, the feeling of something inhuman and vile violating every inch of him as it took control of his body. Used his body to hurt the people he cared about, used his hands to scar Ziva, used his voice to taunt Tony. He remembered trying to scream but having no mouth under his control that would allow him to do so.

Then, the image of Tony standing in front of him, frozen in place with the Winchesters' strange knife in his hand, staring at him. He'd never seen Tony look like that before, not ever. Dean, shouting for Tony... to kill him...

_"I'm so sorry, Tim."_

The next thing he knew, the knife was buried to the hilt in his chest. He was dead within a minute's time. Dead by Tony's hand, though he really didn't want to think about that. He died. He was _dead!_

Yet, here he was, alive and well other than being completely freaking freezing and confused as all hell. McGee looked down at his chest again, and he raised his hand so that it was resting over his heart. There was a scar there, a thin slit, pinkish white and slightly raised. It matched the shade of the y scar. "It looks like I've had these for years..."

"They're fresh," Ducky assured him, expression still dominated by unabashed shock. "This... this isn't possible! Timothy, I slit open your chest, cracked open your rib cage, removed your organs, which have been sitting in formalin for several hours-" Ducky blinked, dropping off as his eyes darted to the side.

He disappeared, going to one of the freezers that held organs instead of human bodies. He opened up the door, sliding out the steel drawer. Inside were about a dozen empty jars. "My God."

"C-Castiel," McGee stammered, letting his hand drop. "Castiel must've done something."

Ducky pursed his lips. "Although that would be the most apparent explanation, it was Castiel who brought your body here this afternoon. At the time, he seemed rather convinced that there was nothing that could be done for you."

"Well, something supernatural is the only way I could be standing here," McGee said, gesturing at himself. "Organs don't just pop back into bodies, blood doesn't start pumping again for no reason, b-brains don't just restart." McGee shivered, sticking his hands into his armpits as he tried to conjure up some warmth. "Uh, D-Ducky, can I please get some clothes?"

Ducky nodded quickly. "Oh, yes! Of course, my apologies, I'm still overcoming my shock at your resurrection," the ME explained, turning on his heel and heading to his desk, where a plastic container sat. "I'm truly ecstatic to see you back, Timothy. I suspect the others, especially Abby, will be... well, it will be beyond words." Ducky removed the clothes McGee was wearing when he died from the container.

"How long has it been since I died?"

Ducky checked his watch as he returned McGee's clothes to him. The shirt was damp with blood, but he only needed something to wear until he could get his NCIS t-shirt from his locker in the agency gym. "It's about midnight."

McGee raised a surprised eyebrow. "What were you doing here so late?" he asked, gratefully accepting the clothes from Ducky. He turned as he pulled on his boxers, gratefully covering his nakedness. As he tugged on his pants, Ducky answered.

"Guarding your body, essentially. It was a sigil and I was a sentry. I was instructed to make sure that Director Vance did not become aware of your death before the rest of the team, the Winchesters and Castiel fabricated some proper answers for him," he explained.

McGee held up his blood stained shirt, eyeing it with a frown. Wearing the clothes he died in just added another layer of unbelievable and strange to the situation. He slipped it over his shoulders, buttoning it up quickly. His scars disappeared, something that relaxed him. He wondered how he was ever going to explain that y-incision scar.

"Abby knows, doesn't she?" he asked suddenly. "She knows that I'm dead? _Was_ dead, anyway."

"Unfortunately, due to my own negligence, she came into autopsy while your body was on the table. I'm afraid that she's of the belief, as is the rest of the team, that you are dead and gone."

"Is she still here?" McGee asked. He didn't even want to imagine how Abby was feeling right now. He needed to see her, needed to show her that somehow, he was alive and breathing again...

"I believe she fell asleep in her lab. She said something about refusing to leave until Jethro and the others returned," Ducky told him. McGee's brow furrowed.

"They're not back yet? Where are they?" Ducky sighed heavily, hesitating in answering. "Irena and Orochi are both dead! Where are they?" he repeated, panic rising in his chest. Had something happened to them?

"I'm afraid you're half-wrong, Timothy," Ducky told him quietly. "Orochi is not dead."

"What do you mean, he's not dead? Tony stabbed me so Orochi would die, that was supposed to be the end of it."

"Apparently the demon was too strong to die in that manner," Ducky explained. "Once you were dead, he merely left your body."

"But..." That could only mean that Orochi had gone on to possess one of the other bitten. "No. _No_ , Ducky, please tell me that what happened isn't what I'm thinking."

"Timothy..."

"Not Gibbs," McGee said with a shake of his head. "Not Gibbs, Ducky, _no_."

"I'm sorry, Timothy."

McGee sucked in a deep breath, turning his back on Ducky and putting hands on either side of his head, trying to calm himself down. The only thing that could be worse than getting possessed himself would be seeing one of his teammates possessed. The idea of Orochi walking around in Gibbs's skin made him physically ill.

"What happened?" he asked unsteadily.

"I'm unsure of the specifics, I'm afraid. All that I know is that the Winchesters, Castiel, Ziva and Tony have managed to bind Jethro - or Orochi, rather - and take him to a chapel near Norfolk where they're performing a ritual that, with luck, will exorcise the demon."

McGee frowned. "Exorcism? If Orochi can be exorcised, why did Dean tell Tony to kill me?"

"I don't know, my dear boy, I wasn't there. These are questions you'll have to ask the Winchesters."

"I need to call them and find out what's going on," McGee said. "Can I use your phone?"

"Of course, one moment," Ducky said, reaching into his pocket. However, just as the old doctor pulled it out, it rang in his hand. His brow furrowed when he saw the Caller ID. Ducky picked up the call and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

A response came over the other end, too muffled for McGee to hear properly. Ducky's shoulders seemed to sag in relief, however. "Who is it?" McGee mouthed.

"Jethro," Ducky said softly. "It's so good to hear your voice, my friend."


	21. Far Too Young to Die

Abby sat in her lab, her head resting on her arms. She was tired, but she knew that the chances of her sleeping were less than zero. Because really, how could she sleep in the same building with McGee's body?

How could she sleep knowing that one of her best friends was dead? And that Gibbs was off somewhere, possessed by a monster?

How could she sleep when everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong?

This wasn't as big of a culture shock to her as it was for the rest of the team - she'd always been open to the supernatural, always believed that there were plenty of things out there beyond her understanding, plenty of things that the science she devoted her life to couldn't explain.

She had an anti-possession tattoo and wore demon-warding charms. They were more accessories than anything - she never thought she would actually come into a situation where she or anyone she knew would be in danger from demons. Believing in something and expecting it to happen are two completely different things.

If someone had told her a week ago that McGee was going to get possessed by a demon and then end up getting stabbed to death by Tony, she wouldn't have believed them. In fact, she would've told them to go straight to Hell.

She closed her eyes, which were dry and itchy. She'd been crying for most of the day. How could she not? But now, as the clock on her computer screen struck one o'clock, she really didn't have any tears left. She just felt empty, like all the crap that had happened since the Winchesters came barreling into their lives had finally drained her batteries.

She closed her eyes and sighed. This was wrong. It was all wrong.

"Abby?"

Her eyes snapped open. She must've imagined that. If she looked up now, she was just going to see a remnant of McGee, just like she did when Kate died. Then, she had needed to see Kate in order to get through the case and help catch Ari, but seeing McGee now would just serve to remind her of what she'd lost.

She screwed her eyes shut tight. "Go away," she muttered.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and her breath caught. It felt real. Real and McGee-shaped.

"Abby, it's me. Come on, open your eyes."

Warily, she obeyed, lifting her head and looking behind her. McGee, dressed in his work-out clothes, stood over her, giving her a small smile. She stared at him, mouth falling open. He was real - she could smell him (he could use a shower), he felt tangible, and she knew if she reached out to touch him, she would be able to feel him.

He gestured down at himself. "Uh, to make a long story short - not dead."

Abby rose from her stool. McGee was starting to look worried at her lack of reaction.

"Abby... I know this is kind of a shock, but-"

"YOU COMPLETE _ASS_!" she shouted before punching him in the chest. Once, twice, three times. She went in for a fourth blow but McGee grabbed both of her wrists to stop her.

"Whoa, hey, what's with the violence?"

"You were dead! I saw your body! You were all cold and white... and... and..." Her anger was draining rapidly, washed away by the purest wave of relief she'd ever felt. She jerked her hands out of McGee's grip only to throw her arms around his neck and pull him into a crushing hug. "You were dead, Timmy, and I thought I was never going to see you again."

McGee wrapped his arms around her middle, squeezing her tightly. "I'm here, Abs. I'm okay. Castiel brought me back somehow."

Abby pulled back a little. "Ducky said that Castiel wouldn't be able to bring you back."

McGee shook his head. "I don't know how he did it. Gibbs called Ducky about twenty minutes ago and said that Castiel managed to pull my soul out of Heaven and put me back together."

Her eyes widened and she felt her heart speed up in her chest. "Gibbs called Ducky?"

McGee grinned. "He did. Tony did it. He saved Gibbs, and Orochi's back in Hell." Abby returned McGee's grin and dragged the NCIS agent back to her. He choked a bit. "Can't breathe." He patted her back. "I just came back to life Abs, I really don't want to suffocate."

Reluctantly, she released him, but not before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "You know I love you, right?"

McGee nodded. "I know, Abs." He gave her a small smile. "I know."

She ran her hand through her hair, trying to calm down her racing pulse. Everything had gone from zero to eighty in the past few minutes - suddenly everything seemed so much brighter, so much more alive. Like she'd been taken out of a black and white movie and put back into the real world.

"When are they getting back?"

"Probably three hours or so. They were in Norfolk," McGee provided. "You look tired." He motioned towards her office. "You should try to get some sleep. I think they're gonna have a lot to tell us when they get back."

Abby wanted to argue, but when she opened her mouth, a yawn came out. McGee put a hand on her shoulder and guided her into her office. He kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Abby."

She hugged him one last time. "If you ever die on me again, I'll kill you."

"I'm going to hold you to that," he replied before releasing her. She flopped down onto her futon. She was already drifting off when she felt something soft being placed in her arms. She squeezed it, and it made a farting sound. Bert.

She felt McGee go to move away, but she darted out a hand and gripped his wrist. "Don't even think about it," she murmured.

McGee laughed softly, then sank down to sit on the side of her futon. He took her hand in his. She smiled to herself as a wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she fell into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

Tony craned his head to take in the NCIS headquarters, and he felt like it had been years since he'd last seen the building, even though he'd just been here the afternoon before. The Winchesters stood at either side of him. Dean had a hand on Ziva's arm, steadying her. She'd awakened halfway through the drive back to the Navy Yard.

When she asked what happened, Dean had told her everything, omitting Gibbs's deal with Crowley and telling her that Castiel had managed to bring McGee's soul back from Heaven and resurrect him, and that he was waiting for them back at NCIS.

Ziva was appropriately happy. Orochi was dead, they'd saved Gibbs, and McGee was back. Everything in the world was sunshine and rainbows.

If only she knew.

Tony had slept for about an hour before waking up, and he'd remained almost entirely silent on the ride back, only speaking when spoken to.

Gibbs had called Ducky and explain what had happened, and also why McGee had just hopped out of an autopsy drawer, alive and well. Tony was grateful that at the very least, Crowley had held up his end of the deal. He was wondering if the demon would just make off with Gibbs's soul and leave McGee dead.

"Are you four waitin' for something?" Gibbs asked from behind them. He brushed past them, heading for the doors. Tony pursed his lips before following after his boss, the Winchesters and Ziva trailing close behind.

The third shift security guard inside arched his eyebrow at the five of them. Tony wasn't surprised.

They were all in states of disarray, with torn clothes and blood caked on them. Dean and Sam had done the first aid routine on him and Ziva on the ride over - Ziva's broken arm and his snapped wrist were both in splints, and the entire side of Ziva's head was turning a very interesting shade of blue-green, along with the length of Tony's jaw, which was throbbing mercilessly. Dean's shirt was torn open and bloody, and the sleeves of Sam's suit coat were drenched with his brother's blood, and there were shallow rends on his shirt from when he'd been trying to fight the hellhound off of Dean.

"Director Vance came by earlier and asked me if I'd seen your team, Agent Gibbs," the security guard said. "He seemed worried."

Gibbs put his SIG and knife on the conveyor belt. "He shouldn't be." He walked through the metal detector and collected his things. Ziva and Tony followed suit. Sam and Dean flashed their fake FBI IDs to the guard so they wouldn't need visitor passes, then dropped their myriad collection of weapons the conveyor belt.

The guard eyed the demon-killing knife suspiciously, but said nothing.

"Where are they?" Ziva asked once they'd cleared the entrance.

"Should be in Abby's lab," Gibbs replied, hitting the button for the elevator.

"I wonder how she reacted to McGee coming back to life," Sam said. "That can be a pretty big shock."

"Speaking from personal experience?" Gibbs asked. Sam and Dean both nodded fervently.

The elevator doors opened. They filed in. As the doors slid shut once more and Ziva hit the button for the second floor, Tony could feel Gibbs's eyes drilling into him. He set his jaw stubbornly, refusing to meet the older agent's gaze. He wanted some kind of confirmation that Tony was going to hold up their story - their _lie_ \- and that he wouldn't tell the others the truth about his deal.

He would. But he wasn't doing this for Gibbs. He was doing it for McGee. He didn't deserve to have Gibbs's now two years forthcoming death on his shoulders. He didn't deserve that kind of guilt.

When the elevator doors opened, Gibbs held out an arm to bar Sam and Dean from getting out. "You two head down to autopsy so Duck can look you over," he ordered. The Winchesters exchanged a glance before nodding in unison. They understood that really, this was a moment that needed to be between their team and no one else. "We'll meet you down there."

Gibbs, Ziva, and Tony stepped out of the elevator and into the coolness of Abby's lab. The lab equipment thrummed quietly in the background. Someone was sitting at Abby's computer, a page open that appeared to be basic information on demonology.

It was McGee, clad in his work-out clothes. Tony supposed he wouldn't want to wear the blood-soaked clothes that he died in. _The clothes that you killed him in._

How the hell was he supposed to face McGee after what he'd done?

The three of them stood there for a moment. None of them had ever dealt with anything even close to this before. This wasn't a TV show, this was real life. People didn't just pull a Lazarus and come back from the dead.

And yet, here they were.

"Tim." It was Gibbs who finally spoke. McGee's head lifted, and he swiveled on Abby's stool. When he saw them, he smiled.

"Boss," he breathed. "Tony... Ziva..." He shook his head, seeming awed. "It's so good to see you guys."

"Good to see you too," Gibbs responded. Ziva gave him a tight smile, and Tony could see tears swimming in her eyes.

McGee was up and out of the stool and moving towards them, and Tony felt frozen. He didn't know what to say, what to do. Right now, he really didn't know much of anything.

Before he could try to figure out how to form coherent thoughts again, McGee was in front of him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Tony stiffened. What the hell?

He didn't lift his arms. "Why are you hugging me, McGee?" he asked in a monotone.

"Because you saved me," McGee said next to his ear. Tony closed his eyes. There was heat burning in them. A wave of emotion rolling over him and a tightness constricting his chest. In one stunning moment of clarity, it hit him - McGee was _alive_.

He threw his arms around McGee and held him like if he let go, he'd never see him again. He tried to stop the tears in his eyes from escaping, but after everything that they'd gone through in the past two days, he just didn't have the energy to hold it back anymore.

"I didn't save you. I killed you," he said, his voice breaking halfway through his sentence.

"You stopped me from killing the people I care about," McGee responded quietly. "You saved me. You saved Gibbs. You saved the world." McGee let out a nervous laugh. "Sounds cliché, I know, but it's true."

He would've taken condemnation. Anger. The cold shoulder routine. Confusion. He would've been able to take anything other than this - other than forgiveness and gratitude and fucking _understanding_.

"Come on, McCuddles, you've got to be at least a little mad," Tony said shakily, still not letting go. McGee was gripping him back just as tightly. "I mean, I stabbed you in the chest."

"No," McGee said, shaking his head. "You stabbed Orochi in the chest." Finally, McGee pulled back just enough to look Tony in the eye. "If you hadn't done what you did, Orochi would've taken my soul and that would've been it. Castiel wouldn't have been able to bring me back."

Tony swallowed. Yeah. Castiel. Right. "You can't seriously be forgiving me for this."

McGee just smiled at him before looking past him to Gibbs. "Boss, do you have a rule about forgiveness?"

Gibbs tilted his chin in confirmation. "Twenty-nine."

"What is it?"

"Let it go."

McGee nodded. "I like that one."

Tony was shaking, but damn it if he couldn't stop the tears from coming. He pulled McGee back and squeezed him one last time before releasing him and backing away. Making sure to mind Ziva's broken arm, he put his arm around her back, and she slid her good arm around McGee.

Tony held his other arm open for Gibbs, who seemed almost surprised by the gesture. _Let it go_ , Tony mused. _Okay. I can do that. For now, I can let the demon deal go, boss._

_But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna do everything I can to save you from it._

"Bring it in," Tony said softly, and after a moment, Gibbs wrapped one arm behind Tony's back and the other behind McGee's, and the four of them bent their head for a few moments. After a moment, Ziva laughed softly.

"What is it?" McGee inquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Even death cannot break us up," Ziva said, and honestly, Tony thought that truer words had never been spoken. Gibbs's eyes moved to meet his, and Tony tried to convey without words that just as McGee's death couldn't break the four of them up, neither could Gibbs's Crossroads deal.

He'd save him from it. He would find a way.

The four of them stood there like that for an indeterminable amount of time before McGee spoke up.

"Abby will kill me if I don't wake her up to see you guys," McGee told them. There were nods around their circle, and the four agents dropped their arms and backed away from each other.

"I'll get her," Gibbs told them, and he swiftly departed for Abby's office. Tony sighed, dragging his sleeve over his eyes, already feeling intensely embarrassed that he'd cried in front of his teammates.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked behind him; Ziva gave him a reassuring nod. "It's alright, Tony," she said quietly.

Huh. The emotionless ex-Mossad ninja was crying, too. And telling him that it was okay to do so.

It really was a weird day.

"Guys!" Abby appeared through the doorway of her office, Gibbs flanking her. She went to death-hug Ziva and himself, but then noticed their respective broken bones, and stopped herself. She gently put her arms around Ziva, who returned her hug with a soft smile. She then did the same for Tony.

"Thank you, Tony," she murmured in his ear. "For saving them. For saving everyone."

He hugged her back, but said nothing.

"Come on," Gibbs said, nodding towards the elevator. "Let's get you two down to autopsy. You both look like you're about to keel over."


	22. Sigh No More

"Doctor Mallard, I'll be okay. Really," Sam said, waving Ducky off. "I've had a lot worse than this."

"Please, dear boy, I prefer Ducky," the medical examiner told him. "And can you really blame me for my concern? I've seen a bit in my time, but hellhound wounds, well, that is something quite new."

"The job you did on him will be fine, doc," Dean said. Ducky had given him a once over to make sure that Castiel properly healed everything, and apparently the angel had been thorough - Dean didn't have a single blemish on his body at the moment, unlike Sam and the NCIS team. "Hellhounds, when it comes down to it, they're just dogs, only invisible and bigger bitches."

Sam could hear the hollow sound of Dean's words; he could see that the encounter with the hellhound was still haunting his brother. Perhaps if they hadn't just seen Jo ripped apart less than a month ago, he would be faring better, but with that wound still so fresh, it had made their run-in with Crowley's hellhound all the more horrifying.

Sam was still shaken to his core after seeing his brother's chest getting ripped open once again by the invisible monsters. For a few moments, he truly thought he was going to have to watch Dean get torn apart for a second time.

He thought he was going to have to bury him again.

"To be honest, though I find myself curious, I do hope I'll never meet one myself," Ducky admitted.

"It ain't fun," Dean assured him fervently. "Trust me."

"I'm content to take your word for it," Ducky replied. The doors to autopsy slid open, and Ducky looked up. He grinned when he saw that it was Gibbs and his team, along with Abby.

"Hey Duck," Gibbs greeted.

"Jethro," Ducky sighed, relieved. "It's so good to see you alive and well."

"Likewise," Gibbs agreed, and the agent embraced the doctor. When they parted, Ducky looked past him to Tony, Ziva, and McGee.

"Oh my," he said. "You two are in worse shape than I imagined."

"Check over Tony first, Ducky," Ziva said, putting a hand on Tony's shoulder and pressing him forward. "There is little of him that is not injured."

"I'm fine, Zee-vah," Tony said tiredly. "A good night's sleep and a few aspirin and I'll be fine."

"That, Anthony, is very far from the truth," Ducky said. "Come here."

Donning a pout face, Tony walked over, his legs unsteady, and hopped up on the table next to Sam. "Really, Ducky, I'm okay-"

"Stop talking, Anthony. Your jaw seems to be dislocated," Ducky said distractedly, putting on a fresh pair of latex gloves and inspecting Tony's jaw. McGee, Gibbs, Ziva, and Abby hovered nearby.

"Good reunion?" Dean asked. Abby smiled.

"The best." She looked between Sam and Dean. "I'm really glad you guys are okay, too."

"Please," Dean said. "It takes more than a super powerful demon and the King of Hell to take us out."

Abby laughed. "Permission to hug?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

She raced over and threw her arms around Dean, hugging him tightly before parting from him and going to Sam, who she was more gentle with. "Are you okay, Sasquatch?"

"I'm fine, Abby," Sam said, leaning his chin on Abby's head. Although he'd just met her a few days beforehand, he already found himself developing inexplicable fondness for the forensic scientist. She was adorable and quirky - and very unlike anyone he'd met before. "Just a few scrapes."

"I wish that the same could be said for Anthony," Ducky said worriedly. "You are, for lack of a better term, quite a mess." He ran a hand along the length of Tony's jaw. The agent winced and groaned. "Dislocated jaw, assuredly." He turned his back on Tony for a moment and went to his desk, retrieving his flashlight before returning to him.

He shined it in Tony's eyes. "Hmm. Pupils are uneven. Did you receive some kind of head trauma?"

"Uh..." Tony blinked a few times, shying away from the light. "Honestly, I've had the crap beaten out of me so many times today that I can't even remember what broke and when."

"Back in the basement of the homeless shelter," Dean said. "Orochi banged your head against the wall. Probably why you've been so fuzzy all day."

"Ah. Right."

Ducky continued his examination, and after what seemed to be a miserable fifteen minutes of poking, prodding, and wincing, Ducky deemed that Tony would have to go to the hospital.

"Ducky, I'm not going to a hospital. Those places give me the jeeves," Tony said. "Especially Bethesda."

"Anthony, you've a dislocated jaw, broken nose, a severe concussion, a fractured zygomatic, a bruised rib, and a broken wrist with third degree burns," Ducky rattled off. "Ziva should go to the hospital as well, with the severity of her broken arm."

"Yeah? And how are we supposed to explain these injuries, exactly?" Tony asked. "'Sorry doctor, I guess I'll have to be more careful next time I'm wrestling demons. Silly me!'"

"Speaking of which, we still have not discussed what to tell Director Vance. What are we going to put in our case reports? How are we supposed to explain our absence, explain..." Ziva gestured around the room at large. "All of this? Surely, the director's realized by now that Sam and Dean are not FBI agents."

Gibbs looked to Sam and Dean. "Any chance your angel can help out?" Sam didn't know whether Gibbs was referring to Ziva and Tony's current states of disrepair or the problem of Director Vance and their ridiculously unbelievable story.

Theoretically, he and Dean could clear out and leave the NCIS agents to deal with their own problems, but it was a silent agreement between he and his brother that it wouldn't be fair to leave Gibbs's team holding the bag, considering all of the trouble they'd gotten them into since coming to town.

"I don't know, his batteries seemed pretty low when we finished things off back at the church, but I can shine up the bat signal, see what he can do." Dean bowed his head awkwardly and clasped his hands. Sam always found it amusing to watch Dean try to pray to Castiel - his prayers generally came out more offensive than beseeching. "Uh, holy-ish Cas who aren't in Heaven... get your ass down here, if you can."

"You really have a way with words, Dean," Tony commented offhandedly, his voice muffled by the bandage that Ducky was applying to his cracked nose. Sam snorted.

"What is it you require?"

Everyone in the room jumped except for he and Dean. It took awhile to get used to Cas's abrupt departures and appearances. The angel looked a little ragged, but overall, he seemed alright.

Sam noticed that McGee was looking at Cas with open awe... and gratitude. Sam wasn't a fan of the fact that they were lying to McGee about the true nature of his resurrection, but he understood the necessity. He'd been in his position before, and he knew what it felt like to feel as though someone you love was going to die and get dragged down to Hell for your sake. The guilt... he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy.

"A few things," Dean told him. "Tony and Ziva, first off, they're kind of broken up. If you've got the mojo, you mind working your magic?"

Cas narrowed his eyes at Tony. "I will be able to heal Ziva without much trouble, but Tony's injuries are extensive and deep."

"We just need him to be good enough that Ducky can fix him up here instead of having to take him to the hospital," Sam explained. After a moment, Castiel nodded.

"I will see what I can do." He encroached on Tony, lifting two fingers.

"Whoa, hey, what exactly are you going to-" Tony broke off as Cas pressed his fingers into Tony's forehead. In a blink, most of the bruises and cuts that the NCIS agent had sustained over the past few days disappeared, and his posture seemed to straighten. Tony let out a sigh, massaging his jaw.

"Angel morphine. I can dig it," Tony said. "Thanks, Cas."

"How do you feel, now?" McGee asked.

"Like crap... but just crap. Not crap that's been run over by a truck seventeen times," Tony replied.

Cas moved onto Ziva, doing the same to her. When the angel stepped away from her, she flexed her arm. It seemed completely fine. "I wasn't able to completely erase the concussion, but it has been reduced to a less severe state," Cas explained.

Ziva nodded. "That is fine. Thank you."

"Speaking of thank yous..." McGee said, grabbing Castiel's attention. "Castiel, I don't know how to thank you for bringing me back. If you ever need anything, ever... I'm your man."

Sam suppressed a thrill of anxiety. Cas wasn't well schooled in the art of deception. He hoped that the angel would be able to keep their cover story cohesive. McGee didn't need to know the true extent of what had been done to save him... not yet, at least.

Cas merely nodded stiffly. "You are welcome, Timmy." Sam winced. Someone really needed to tell Cas that McGee didn't go by that.

A moment later, the angel was caught by surprise as Abby tackled him with a hug, squeezing him tightly. She didn't say anything, just hugged him. Castiel stood frozen, not seeming to know what to do. Leave it to the genius angel to be confused by someone giving him a bear hug.

"Cas," Sam said. "When a pretty girl hugs you, you hug back."

"Ah. I see," was all that Cas said. He patted Abby awkwardly on the back, and then she released him, looking a bit bleary eyed. Seeming a bit off-kilter, Castiel turned to stare at Dean. "Did you need something else?"

"Uh, yeah. Is there any chance you can kind of give their boss the sped-up version of the Truth is Out There speech?" Dean inquired, gesturing at the NCIS agents gathered in the room.

"I'm unsure of your meaning."

"Just... you know, flash some angel mojo, make him a believer, tell him the bare bones of what happened," Dean elaborated. " _Bare_ bones," he emphasized, and Sam hoped that Cas caught the extent of his brother's meaning.

Cas nodded again. "What is his name?" he asked.

"Leon Vance," Gibbs provided. "Need an address?"

Cas shook his head. "No." With a flutter of wings and a soft breeze, the angel was gone.

"He's not really into goodbyes, is he?" Tony inquired. Dean shook his head.

"He's a man of few words. Angel. Whatever," the hunter responded.

* * *

Leon couldn't sleep.

Now, he was used to some pretty shady moves from Gibbs and his team. He'd learned to overlook what needed to be overlooked in the past two years that he'd been director, but the entire MCRT disappearing off the grid with two FBI agents who weren't FBI agents and leaving the MCRT surveillance van sitting outside of a homeless shelter with a dead body in the basement - that wasn't something he could take. Especially when he could tell that both Sciuto and Mallard were holding back information.

God only knew what Gibbs's team was up to, but he was damn well going to find out.

He was sitting at his desk at home, looking over the results of the facial recognition scans that had been sent to him by the FBI after he'd emailed them the security footage of agents Diamond and Young after Fornell assured him that they weren't working any cases with NCIS at the moment, and he didn't send any agents over. The FBI, of course, hadn't been in any hurry to help him, so he hadn't received the results of the facial scan until a few minutes ago.

Sam Winchester: Wanted under suspicion of grave robbing, grave desecration, several counts of grand theft auto, grand larceny, arson, and vandalism.

Dean Winchester: The same as his younger brother, only add on three suspected murders in Baltimore and a string of torture-murders in St. Louis back in '05.

Why the hell was Gibbs's team running around with wanted criminals?

Leon's confusion increased only further when he reached the ends of the Winchester's records. Apparently, the two of them had died when a police precinct in Monument went up in flames back in '08. They'd been dead for going on two years, now.

He amended his question: why the hell was Gibbs's team running around with supposedly dead criminals?

"Hello."

Vance had his SIG out of its usual resting place in his desk drawer and in his hand in a split second. He spun around in his chair, flicking off the safety and leveling his gun. In front of him stood a man of about six feet with pale, almost inhumanly blue eyes and a swath of messy black hair.

"Who are you?" Vance demanded, rising from his chair. "And how did you get into my house?" His immediate concern was his family; if this man had somehow gotten into his home without setting the alarms or catching his notice, who was to say that he hadn't already gotten to Jackie and the kids?

"My name is Castiel, and I am an angel of the Lord." The man reached out and put his hand on Leon's forehead, and before he could fire, his vision was whited out.

Images flashed by. Black eyes. Sam and Dean Winchester, the two killers. A woman with thin blonde hair and a twisted smile. Screaming. McGee shoving DiNozzo against the wall. McGee's bloodless corpse. Black roiling smoke. Gibbs chained down inside of some kind of spray-painted pentagram. A cave so illuminated by the sun that it glowed like fire. An accented, mocking voice. Rain and thunder, and a black muscle car that was probably older than he was.

The angel - because yes, he _was_ an angel - removed his hand, and Leon collapsed back into his chair, overwhelmed by the memories that had just been channeled to him. In mere moments, his entire perception of the universe and the laws it operated on had been completely shattered.

Angels. Demons. Heaven and Hell.

"Christ," Leon muttered, putting a hand to his forehead as he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. "That's not possible."

"But you know it is. You know what came to pass."

He did, with utter certainty. He didn't know how - the angel had done something to him, God only knew what - but he _knew_.

After a moment, he looked up at Castiel. "They're all alive?"

"Yes."

"You brought McGee back?"

A pause. "Yes."

"The Winchesters-"

"-are not guilty of the crimes they were accused of," the angel filled in.

Leon shook his head. "I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything," Castiel responded. "What you need to do is go through the appropriate channels and do what must be done so that questions aren't raised in regards to what Gibbs and his team have been doing the past few days."

Leon gulped. "That I can do."

Castiel nodded. "Good." Leon blinked, and the angel was gone, leaving him alone in his study. He sighed heavily before rising from his chair and heading to the liquor cabinet.

If ever there was a time for a strong drink, it was now.

* * *

Dean looked at the Impala with an expression Tony could only deem as heartbroken.

"I don't suppose you know any good mechanics around here?" Dean asked, guiding a hand over the hood. The rain had washed the blood off of the windshield before they'd left the church, but the front end was still smashed up pretty badly from where Sam had run over Zachariah. Not so badly that it couldn't be driven, but it needed to go to the shop ASAP, especially since one of the headlights was busted out.

"Don't ask DiNozzo about mechanics," Gibbs advised. The older agent was standing next to them. Abby was taking McGee and Ziva over to Gibbs's house to drop them off. With Ziva and Tony both still having minor concussions, it was decided that they should probably be monitored while they slept. Plus, after coming so close to losing each other repeatedly, Tony knew that they all had the unspoken urge to stay together.

"Why?" Sam asked from next to his brother.

"All his cars get too destroyed for mechanics to do much for 'em," Gibbs explained, and Tony gave an exasperated roll of his eyes. It wasn't his fault that people decided to steal and/or blow up his cars.

Dean shot him a questioning look.

"Story for another time," Tony said. "There's a guy over in Fairfax named Lenny who can help you out. I took my Mustang to him more times than I can count."

"Alright. I'll bring Baby over tomorrow. Just for the headlight, though. I'm fixing the rest myself. I don't like strangers touching her," Dean said. He glanced between Gibbs and Tony. "Sam and I are gonna go grab a room somewhere-"

"The hell you are," Gibbs cut him off. "Did I let you and your dad stay in some dive motel?" Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Some kind of brother telepathy thing that Tony couldn't quite make out. "I got a house. There's room for you. And beer." Dean seemed to perk up at that. "You can stay 'til she's fixed."

After a moment, the Winchesters nodded in unison. "If you're sure it's not too much trouble," Sam said.

Gibbs just jerked his head towards the Impala as a sign of, "Let's go."

Dean took the front seat, Sam took the passenger side, and Tony filed into the back with his boss. On the ride over, Tony couldn't help but watch Gibbs out of the corner of his eye. He could admit, he'd been waiting for some kind of... well, some kind of sign, or something. Some indication of what had changed in Gibbs.

_I mean, someone can't just suddenly be part-demon without some side effects,_ Tony thought to himself. However, Gibbs, for all appearances, seemed completely normal.

For now.

What was to come, however, was a different story.

That was actually something he was having a lot of trouble with, at the moment. What was next? After all they'd been through, all they'd seen, how so much had changed and everything had gotten turned upside down, could they all go back to just doing their jobs like nothing had ever happened at all?

Could they go on hunting humans when there were monsters out there that the scum they dealt with didn't even stack up to?

Could they sit in the bullpen and fill out paper work when the entire damn world was ending?

He couldn't speak for the others, but he wasn't sure that he could.

No... no, he wasn't sure about that at all.


	23. Somewhere I Belong

"Tony, your feet _stink_ ," McGee muttered, pushing Tony's feet away from his face.

"Shut up, McJudgmental, yours don't exactly smell like roses, either," Tony retorted, trying to adjust himself so that he was comfortable. He and McGee were sharing the guest bed in Gibbs's house. Tony's head was at the foot of the bed, his feet by the headboard, with McGee in the reverse position. It was pushing six in the morning now, and it looked like he and the rest of the team - plus the Winchesters - would be sleeping through the day.

Tony had a feeling that Vance would give them the day off. When they'd arrived back at Gibbs's, Castiel had appeared and informed them that Vance was thoroughly convinced of what had happened to the team. Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know what Cas did to convince him of their story, considering how far-fetched the whole thing was. Of course, Cas dropping out of the sky had certainly helped to convince him of the supernatural, so he imagined it would probably do the same for the NCIS director.

Tony sighed, readjusting the covers overtop of him. He'd showered and changed into an extra pair of sweats and a t-shirt that he'd left at Gibbs's. He felt clean, comfortable, and although his numerous injuries ached and throbbed, it was nothing compared to how bad he felt before Cas did his little healing routine on him.

He should be out like a light, right now. He could see McGee heading in that direction, as his friend's eyes were already drooping shut.

But he couldn't sleep. Every time he let his lids slip shut, all he saw were black and red eyes. Smoke and bodies.

_It's over. Orochi's dead._

But it wasn't over. Not even close.

Because in two years, the King of the Crossroads was coming for Gibbs, and they had no way to stop him, and Tony was the only one of the team who knew the truth.

Two years. Two years, and Gibbs would get dragged down to Hell. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a lot of things, but someone deserving of eternal torment? Absolutely not. In spite of the blood on Gibbs's hands, he was a good man. Probably the best that Tony had ever met. Gibbs, throughout all of these years, was the thing that kept him grounded. The guy waiting there to slap him on the head and pick him up when he fell and tell him to get his shit together. He'd always been there.

Tony thought he would always be there.

Two years.

_What the hell am I gonna do?_

He heard McGee snoring softly. Good. He needed rest.

_So do you!_

Tony forced his eyes shut. Breathed in, breathed out. Laid perfectly still. If he didn't move long enough, he'd fall asleep eventually. He did this for an indeterminable amount of time before he grew bored and cracked open one of his eyes to check the time.

Only ten minutes had gone by.

"Oh, screw this," Tony murmured to himself.

Being careful not to jostle McGee, Tony climbed out of the guest bed, padding quietly to the door and easing it open. He slipped out into the hallway. He paused when he reached Gibbs's room. Gibbs was downstairs on a cot, sleeping near Ziva, who was on the couch, just to make sure that she didn't stop breathing during the night due to her concussion.

The Winchesters were in Gibbs's room, sharing his boss's bed - which he almost never used, anyway. However, when Tony halted outside the door, he only heard the sound of one person's heavy, sleepy breathing. One of the Winchesters was awake, then.

Tony crept downstairs. When he reached the living room, he glanced at Gibbs and Ziva, sleeping peacefully. Ziva was snoring along like a bear with emphysema. He didn't envy Gibbs having to bunk in the same room as her, but he seemed to be getting on just fine.

Tony looked into the kitchen. Someone was in there, bent over the table with a mug gripped in their hand. In the dim light, Tony could just barely make out Dean's figure.

He cleared his throat to alert Dean of his presence. Tony had a feeling that if he startled the hunter, he very well might earn himself a free bullet in the ass. Dean turned his head to meet Tony's eyes.

"You should be asleep, DiNozzo," Dean told him. Tony grimaced, walking around to the other side of the table.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied. "You mind?"

Dean gestured at the chair as a sign of assent. He took a deep gulp of his drink, seeming distracted.

"Coffee or bourbon?" was all Tony asked.

"Both."

"Yeah, you've definitely got Marine blood in you," he said, chuckling quietly. He was rewarded with a flicker of a smirk from Dean. "So, what's got you up at o-dark-hundred, Dean?"

Dean paused, the mug hovering only a few inches from his lips. "A bunch of shit. The usual." With a slight shake of his head, he drained the rest of his drink and set it down on the smooth surface of the table. He rose from his chair, heading for Gibbs's cupboard.

A moment later, Tony found a dusty glass being set down in front of him. He looked up to see Dean grab the ever-present bottle of bourbon from Gibbs's liquor cabinet and unscrew the top. He then poured Tony three fingers of the amber liquid.

"Bourbon," Dean said, filling his own mug after Tony's. "Hunter's little helper."

"Does this make me an honorary hunter, then?" Tony inquired dryly, sipping at the alcohol. The warm, bitter taste that filled his mouth temporarily served to drive away the dark thoughts that had been chasing him.

"I think taking out one of the meanest sons of bitches we've ever run into earns you that much, man," Dean told him honestly.

"Yeah, well, I'm still feeling like this isn't all the way in the win column, you know what I mean?" Tony replied. He took a deep gulp of his drink, shuddering as the bourbon burned its way down his throat.

Dean was silent for a moment. "I'm a lot of things, but I ain't a hypocrite. So, I'm not gonna say that Gibbs was wrong."

"I never said he was wrong," Tony responded. "Right now, I don't really give a damn about the morality of it all." He leaned on his elbows, looking Dean dead in the eye as he set down his glass. "All I care about now is getting him out of that deal."

Dean sighed heavily, his eyes dropping to his hands. "Look, when I pawned my soul off, Sam, Bobby and I did everything – _everything_ – to get me out of my contract. But when my time came, it came, and the hounds dragged me down."

"So, what, you're saying there's nothing I can do?" Tony asked, a touch of anger in his words.

"I'm saying that I don't _know_ , DiNozzo. I'm just telling you that there may not be a way out of this for him, and you gotta accept that."

"There's no way in hell I'm accepting that!" Tony said, trying with difficulty to keep his voice down, so as not to wake Gibbs and Ziva in the next room. "What if I kill Crowley? Will that get Gibbs out of his deal?"

"Maybe, but that leaves you the problem of trying to kill the little bastard. Crowley's the King of the friggin' Crossroads – he's the strongest demon out there, now. Trying to take him out would be something Sam and I would be damn lucky to pull off. If you went after him, he'd paint the walls with you, then probably kill McGee just to add insult to injury."

"Your weird knife and Cas's angel blade can take out demons, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"So there, I've already got a way to get rid of him. All I have to do is find him."

"And how're you gonna do that, huh? Crowley's on the run now, you can bet your ass. Lucifer is going to want to fry him on a spit for dragging up Orochi. He's going to go and duck under a rock somewhere and wait out Armageddon, and he ain't coming out unless we somehow manage to ice the devil and stop Judgment Day," Dean told him wearily.

"I can't just sit here and twiddle my thumbs while his clock's ticking down!" Tony hissed through gritted teeth.

"You don't have a choice!" Dean snapped. "Fact is, unless Sam, Cas, and I find a way to stop Michael and Lucifer's prize fight, it ain't gonna matter who owns Gibbs's soul, 'cause the planet's gonna burn down to ashes and make Hell seem like a damn picnic."

"Castiel said that Lucifer and Michael need you and your brother to give your consent in order for them to fight each other. They have to use you guys as vessels."

Dean seemed a bit annoyed by that. "Looks like I need to have a talk with Cas about over-sharing."

"As long as you and Sam keep saying no, everything goes on as normal, right?"

"Have you been watching the news recently, man? The swine flu outbreaks, the famine, the drought, the insane weather patterns all over the globe – record breaking hot in the north and cold in the south – you think that's all just a coincidence? It's not! It's just the beginning. The longer we stall, the longer Lucifer has to wreck the world. Even if Sam and I hold off on saying yes forever, Lucifer will just destroy it all anyway."

Tony licked his lips. Yes, he'd noticed that things seemed to be getting hinky all over the world this year, but he'd never thought to write it off as apocalyptic omens and signs of the devil…

"The point I'm trying to make here is that there're bigger fish to fry, right now. The only way you can kill Crowley is if I give you this knife or Cas gives you his angel blade, and I can tell you straight up that it's not gonna happen, not when we've got every demon and angel after our asses. When this is all over – and by all over I mean all over with a sort-of not shitty ending – then you worry about Gibbs and stopping Crowley. Until then, it's the fucking end of the world. Enjoy the next few months, 'cause really, they might be your last."

Tony drummed his fingers on the table top, then drained the rest of his glass. Dean was right. If the apocalypse really went down, it wouldn't matter that Gibbs sold his soul. None of it would matter, because the whole world would be damned to Hell.

The entire world…

It was a weird thought. He never thought that globally – sure, as the major case response team for NCIS, they'd stopped some pretty big bads… but they'd never saved the world. They'd never been in a situation where the fate of the entire world was on their shoulders. Well, up until the past few days, but that was beside the point, really

Dean and Sam Winchester had to deal with the burden of protecting the world every day of their lives. He couldn't even imagine it.

"Do you want help?" he found himself asking abruptly. The thought had been rooted in the back of his mind since they'd returned to DC, and it chose this moment to grow into more than just a thought – it was an idea, now.

A plan.

"Help?" Dean echoed, furrowing his brow.

"Yeah. Another hand on deck, doing whatever it is that you guys do," Tony continued.

A look of understanding donned on Dean's features. "You want to come with Sam and I when we leave? You want to become a hunter?"

"I'm not really sure if I want to," Tony told him honestly. "But… I think I need to."

"DiNozzo-"

"Could you do it?" he cut off the older Winchester. "Could you just sit by while the world was going off the cliff and not do _anything_?"

Dean just looked at him for a long moment, bright green eyes digging into him like claws. "Never really had the luxury."

"From what Cas told me, it's pretty much you guys against the world. You and your friend Bobby."

"Yeah, well, that's because all of our other friends are dead," Dean said, perhaps a little more sharply than he meant to. "Tony, everyone we care about bites it. Do you know why?" the hunter asked rhetorically. "'Cause Sam and I, we're bad news. Look at how shitty your life's gotten just since we showed up. People around us, they get screwed, again and again."

"Shitty? The entire team would be dead if you hadn't showed up, Dean. An apocalyptic monster would be traipsing around DC if the three of you hadn't come along!" Tony protested.

"See if you're still saying that a couple weeks from now when you're waking up in a cold sweat and you can't sleep, 'cause all you see when you close your eyes is Gibbs strapped down in that chair with black eyes, or McGee bleeding out on the floor," Dean replied darkly. Tony pursed his lips. He had a feeling that would be happening a lot sooner than a few weeks from now.

Nightmares. As if he didn't have enough already.

He looked at Dean closely, closer than he'd ever looked before, and he seemed so worn down. There were dark circles underneath his bloodshot eyes, his face was gaunt, and his hair was sticking up in all the wrong places. He looked like a man who hadn't had a good night's sleep in months. He looked like a man who had taken so many punches that he was having a hard time getting back up. Really, he looked like a man who needed help.

"You can't tell me that things wouldn't be easier with another person along for the ride."

"It wouldn't," Dean said swiftly. "We'd have to teach you how to hunt - and right now, we don't have time for that. Making a hunter out of someone, that takes years-"

"Didn't you just say that after taking out Orochi, I earned it?" Tony asked. "I know how to shoot a gun, I know how to fight, and if anyone can impersonate a fed on a daily basis, it's me. So I'm shaky on the lore - I can learn that on the fly."

"Why are you so determined about this?" Dean demanded. "Why would you want to sign up for this, after what you've seen?"

"How _couldn't_ I want to sign up for it after what I've seen?" Tony countered. "There's tens of thousands of guys out there catching human monsters... how many hunters do you think are in the states? A hundred? Two hundred?"

"Less," Dean answered dimly.

"That's what I thought." Tony clasped his together, resting his chin overtop of his fingers. "If I want to kill Crowley, I have to learn how to fight these things."

Dean was silent for a long moment. "You're not gonna let this drop, are you?"

"No. I'm not."

Dean batted his thumb against the outside of his mug, thinking. "Throat slit."

Tony blinked. "Come again?"

"Caleb. He got this throat slit. So did Pastor Jim," Dean said, leaning back in his chair. "Demon named Meg cut 'em both open to get to us. Then the same demon that roasted my mother on the ceiling of Sam's nursery - and then twenty two years later did the same thing to his girlfriend - killed our dad, made a deal with him so that if he gave up his soul and his life, I got to live. Then a hunter bar we used to go to, the Roadhouse, it went up in flames, and our friend Ash burned alive. Mercenary chick named Bela we met the year after got ripped apart by hellhounds."

"Dean-"

The Winchester was on a roll. "Our friend Pamela got her eyes burned out of her head, then got stabbed to death a few months later by a demon when she was helping us. We had to turn one of our angel pals over to some of the douche bags upstairs, and I'd bet money she's probably dead. Then Bobby took a knife in the thigh for us right after Lucifer came up, and he can't walk anymore. Oh, and a few weeks ago, two of the only friends we had left, Ellen and Jo, died. One got mauled by a hellhound, and then they both sacrificed themselves so Sam and I could get a shot at the devil. 'Course bullets don't work on the devil, so they died for nothing."

Dean put both his hands down flat on the table and pushed himself halfway out of his chair, glaring down at Tony with thirty-something years of grief stored in his eyes. "Now, tell me, DiNozzo, is that something you're willing to risk? Because when I'm holding your body a couple months from now, I want to be able to tell myself that I did everything to convince you to stay. Stay here with your team, live your life, enjoy the last few months you got before the Earth roasts. Don't give yourself over to this, 'cause it ends bloody or sad every damn time."

Tony ducked his head. Logically, what Dean just told him should've sent him running from the room. Should've destroyed any notions he had of becoming a hunter. But that was if he was a man who operated on logic, who did what he was expected to do. The world was going to end. Two country bumpkins, a socially awkward angel, and some coot in a wheelchair weren't going to stop it whether he came along for the ride or not. That was a given.

But Tony was a wild card. He was the kind of man who could look at the reality in front of him and refuse to accept it.

He refused to accept that the world was ending. He refused to accept that there was nothing he could do.

"This doesn't come down to me, because my mind's already made up," Tony told him. "And if there's one thing I've got going for me, it's that I'm stubborn. This is up to you." He leveled a look at Dean, who slowly seated himself back in his chair, seeming drained of his anger for the time being. He gulped the last of his mug. "It's your show. You decide whether I come along for the ride."

"It's a death sentence."

"Well, if we're all gonna die anyway, I may as well go down fighting, right?" Tony gave Dean an uneven smile. The Winchester didn't return it, but his expression did soften somewhat before he let out a heavy sigh.

"I'll talk to Sam. See what he thinks," Dean told him. "But goddammit, DiNozzo, don't you ever say that I didn't warn you. _Don't_."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Tony responded. Dean just grimaced.

"Get your ass to bed," he ordered, gesturing in the general direction of the staircase. Tony nodded.

"Alright." He rose from his chair. With the bourbon in his system, he felt more tired, now. Perhaps tired enough to sleep. Having this plan in front of him... the plan to stop the devil, save the world... it helped calm him. It shouldn't have, but it did.

He paused before he left the room. "You should sleep too, Dean." From what Castiel had told him, he imagined that rest wasn't something that came easily to Dean. After all, he'd been through literal Hell.

Dean didn't respond. Instead, he reached across the table and grabbed the bottle of bourbon. He poured himself another glass.


	24. The Long and Winding Road

"He really wants to come with us?" Sam asked, looking at him like he must've been joking.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Friggin' determined as hell about it, too."

The two of them were in Gibbs's snow laden backyard, sitting on the stoop. It was sunset, just a little after five. The NCIS team was still sleeping, with the exception of Gibbs, who seemed to have napped off his demon possession and near run in with death, as he was in the kitchen making dinner for the five of them - and Abby too, who was apparently due to come over as soon as the others had woken up.

Dean had grabbed about two hours of sleep in the afternoon. It was better than nothing.

"What did you tell him?"

"You mean after I gave him a lecture about how coming with us is pretty much suicide and how he should stay here and live a normal life?" Dean asked dryly. "I told him I'd talk to you about it." He gestured at the two of them. "Talking. You. Me. What do you think?"

"I don't know." His brother craned his massive head, looking at the fading winter sunset. "I mean, if you, me, Bobby, and Cas all make it out of this alive, it'll be a miracle, and we all have experience. We all know what we're doing. Tony's as green as it gets."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Here's the problem though... I think even if we tell him to go to hell, he'll just strike out on his own."

"And then he's definitely dead."

Dean nodded. "So, the son of a bitch didn't really leave us a choice, did he?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at his younger brother. Sam's lips thinned, and he clasped his hands in his lap.

"Do we really want more blood on our hands?" he asked quietly. "We know how this is gonna end, Dean. It always ends the same."

"You're preaching to the choir, Sam."

"I know, I know..." The other hunter shook his head. "Sure, someone to help with the heavy lifting with Bobby out of commission, it could be good. Having someone tag along who's human and actually has social skills wouldn't be that bad, either... it would probably keep us sane, at least."

"Yeah, except for the fact that DiNozzo never shuts up and he'd drive us nuts," Dean pointed out.

"He loves fast cars, hot women, and old movies. He might as well be your soul mate," Sam cracked, giving him a small smile that he managed to faintly return.

"Another question, though. Can we trust him?"

Sam seemed to consider this for a moment. "I don't know. You trust Gibbs, and Gibbs trusts him," he pointed out.

Dean didn't like the idea of trusting anyone they'd only known for a few days. Years of experience had warned him against that over and over again. It took him a long time to trust anyone - he'd known Cas for almost a year before he'd begun to put any trust in the angel, and that had been _Cas_. When push came to shove, could he put his life in Tony's hands and trust him not to blow it?

He basically had, he supposed; he and Sam had been marked by Orochi as well. If Tony hadn't stopped the demon, they would've both ended up as bloody splatters on the wall.

"Kind of goes back to beggars can't be choosers," Sam said. "We didn't choose a side, Dean. We made our own, and we don't have that many soldiers," Sam said. "Tony can shoot, he's smart, he's determined, and since we spend half of our time impersonating federal agents, he could be helpful."

"Are you just playin' devil's advocate here, or are you seriously considering this?" Dean asked, leveling a serious look at his younger brother. Sam's lips thinned, and he looked down at his hands contemplatively.

"Everything's riding on us, now. If one of us says yes, that's it. Maybe having someone else around will keep our heads on straight."

"You think we can't do it on our own?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Sam admitted quietly, and with the look his younger brother gave him, he got the distinct feeling that Sam was not concerned about himself when it came to the archangels that were after them.

There was a thick silence between them. Dean wasn't sure how to break it. He shivered, rubbing the palms of his hands together. He was torn. It seemed like no matter what, the path Tony was determined to follow would ultimately lead to his death. If he came with them, he would meet the same bloody end as all of their other friends. The same end that they themselves were very likely to meet.

However, if he struck out on his own, he would probably be dead before the apocalypse had the chance to kill him.

_Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Same as always._

"He'll be on probation. If he screws up, we drag him back here and drop his ass back on Gibbs's doorstep," Dean said eventually. He paused, waiting for Sam to argue or disagree.

He didn't.

* * *

The next day, the team was all back at work. Naturally.

Only Tony knew that it would be his last day. Last night, after dinner had been cleaned up and put away, Dean pulled him aside.

"Have your bag packed and be ready to go by tomorrow night."

Tony had just nodded. Nothing else needed to be said. He would use his two weeks of stored up emergency personal days and use them to cover the two week waiting period it would take for his resignation to go through. Today was his last day as an NCIS agent. It made him feel simultaneously saddened and excited. And as the day went on, he was repeatedly reassured that he'd made the right decision.

Things were not back to normal.

Gibbs had accidentally ripped out his desk drawer and shattered his coffee cup from gripping the handle too hard. Demon strength was something he was going to have to get used to. Due to his death and subsequent resurrection, McGee's increased strength had faded, but apparently Gibbs's was here to stay. He also dropped the Chinese takeout that Ziva had picked up for dinner with a grunt, putting a hand to his lips with a wince. Apparently the older agent was sensitive to salt, now.

Although he and McGee had been getting along fine since his resurrection - much better than usual, actually - he couldn't help but remember what he did when he saw McGee. The guilt gnawed at him, making a home in his chest and refusing to leave. He killed McGee. The fact that he was alive now didn't changed that, no matter how badly he wished it did. He looked in his best friend's eyes and stabbed him in the heart.

It wasn't something he could forget. He didn't know how McGee could look past it so easily.

And then there was the fact that he half-tricked himself more than once into thinking that Gibbs or McGee's eyes were black. It was a terrible fear, just for a few seconds before he came back to reality.

The words that Orochi had forced Gibbs to speak while he was possessed also were still haunting him. Mainly because he didn't know how true they were, how much had been truly pulled from Gibbs's heart and mind and how much had just been made up by Orochi in an attempt to get to him. He wasn't about to ask his boss, so he supposed these were questions he was just going to have to live with.

Vance was also giving the four of them incredibly strange looks, but for his credit, he didn't bring up what had transpired over the past few days. Tony had a very strong feeling that Vance was a little afraid to know all of the details. He couldn't really blame him.

No, things weren't the same. He shouldn't have been surprised.

McGee and Ziva left at seven. They wanted Tony to get a drink with the two of them and Abby. He politely declined, saying he had a few things he needed to finish up. They both looked at him in a manner that assured him that they saw straight through them, but luckily, they didn't push. Not this time.

Without looking at Gibbs, Tony made his way up to Vance's office, a folder of the proper paperwork tucked under his arm. Vance's secretary nodded when he requested access, and he pushed into Vance's office, swallowing down the anxiety rising in his chest. Or maybe it was guilt - guilt over leaving them all. He didn't really know.

Vance looked up from his computer, meeting Tony's eyes. "Agent DiNozzo," he greeted, almost warily. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes," Tony said. He made his way to the director's desk, laying down the folder on top of it and pushing it towards Vance. "Consider this my two week's notice, Director." He then unclipped his badge from his belt and placed it on the desk. His SIG was still lying in pieces in the basement of the homeless shelter in Anacostia, so he had no weapon to set alongside it.

Vance was still for a moment as he opened the manilla folder, scanning his eyes over the words. He seemed surprised. "I'm going to assume this has to do with what transpired while Sam and Dean Winchester were here."

They were still here, but Tony didn't bother to tell him that. He just nodded. "Yes," he repeated. His tongue felt thick, and all of his words seemed to stick in his throat.

Vance shot him an appraising look. "DiNozzo, are you sure this isn't a knee-jerk response to what happened to you? I think it would be in your best interest to think it through. You have a career here." He paused for a moment. "You have a family here."

"I know, Director." _I'm doing this for them._ "I don't think that my decision will change no matter how long I mull it over." _Because I have no other option._

Vance tilted his head, seeming conflicted before he palmed Tony's badge, turning it over in his hand. "I'm going to ask you one last time, Tony," he said, and Tony was half-sure it was the first time he ever heard the NCIS director use his first name. "Are you sure?"

"I'm about as sure as I can be," Tony said quietly. After a moment, Vance nodded, setting the badge back down and grabbing a pen. He began going through the papers and signing the appropriate lines. He was surprised it was this easy. He thought Vance would offer up more of a fight. Then again, maybe he could just read the fact that Tony was a man who'd made up his mind.

He wasn't Gibbs. He didn't try to understand Vance.

When everything was signed, Vance handed him one last sheet. "Gibbs will have to sign off on this." They both knew that he was already aware of that. "You're always welcome at NCIS, I hope you know that."

"I do," he responded. "Thank you, Director."

Tony left the director's office, paper in hand. He went down the stairs, back into the bullpen. They'd been doing cold case work all day, having been spared a new case for the time being. Gibbs would have no problem with him leaving at a reasonable time, today.

He set the paper down on his own desk, and then packed his backpack. He couldn't help but think of a bigger bag he had waiting on his bed at home. When he'd gone back to his own apartment this morning, he'd filled a duffel with everything he thought he might need on the road with the Winchesters. Trying to stuff his entire life into a bag had been bordering on impossible, but he supposed it was just the beginning of the sacrifices he would make now that he'd taken up the hunting life.

When his bag was slung over his shoulder, he picked up the paper again, feeling a pit deep in his stomach. He'd decided not to say any goodbyes. It would require explaining himself, and he didn't really think he'd be able to do that in a way that satisfied the others. And there was so much to say that he was pretty sure he'd never be able to cover it all. He knew that all of his coworkers deserved goodbyes, but he couldn't do it.

What was he supposed to say to McGee and Ziva? To Abby and Ducky? To Gibbs? There was no explanation that would make up for the fact that he was leaving - and there was no way he could make any of the others understand without revealing Gibbs's Crossroads deal. They'd been his family and this place had been his home for so long... there was no proper way to say goodbye to something like that.

Perhaps he was a coward, but he just couldn't do it.

He placed the paper in Gibbs's inbox. "Night, boss," he said. He was already heading towards the elevator.

"Night, DiNozzo."

Tony hit the button for the elevator and waited for it to come up to meet him. After a few moments, the steel doors slid open. Tony stepped inside. He felt like he couldn't breathe. This was the last time he would see this place for quite awhile, if he ever saw it again at all. This was his home, this was his family, and he was leaving it all behind.

He couldn't enjoy a world that he knew was going to end.

Just as the elevator was about to close, he heard thundering footsteps, and Gibbs slipped between the doors just as they shut behind him. The elevator began trundling downwards, and Tony hitched in a breath. If the expression on Gibbs's face was any indication, he'd seen the paper. Tony was hoping he would wait to look at it until later.

The older agent reached across Tony and slammed the emergency stop. The elevator jerked to a stop and the lights faded out. Then, Gibbs slapped Tony hard on the back of the head. Tony winced, jerking forward at the impact. That was probably the last thing his concussion needed. Gibbs still needed to learn to acclimate to his demon strength.

"What the hell is the meaning of that paper on my desk?" he demanded.

Tony grimaced. He'd wanted to avoid this conversation at all costs. So much for that. "It's a resignation form. You initial at the bottom. It's not a difficult procedure."

Gibbs leveled an icy glare at him that usually would have made him wet his pants. Today, however... he just felt numb to it.

"Stop being a smartass and tell me why you handed in your badge," Gibbs demanded.

"What do you think?" Tony snapped, unable to keep the anger out of his tone. Shouldn't it be obvious? After everything, shouldn't he be able to see why he had to leave?

"Answer the damn question, DiNozzo!"

"Maybe it's because every time I close my eyes, I see McGee, lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Maybe it's because I can still hear Ziva screaming when I try to sleep at night. Maybe it's because every time I see you or McGee, I keep checking your eyes to make sure they aren't black! Or maybe it's because I can't even touch McGee anymore, because when I do I remember how it felt to _kill him_! And there's you... I remember all the things that demon made you say, and I know it wasn't you, but it still..." He shook his head. "You sold your soul. Thanks to Orochi riding you, you're half-demon, and in two years, you're going to get dragged down to Hell unless I do something about it, and the point I'm trying to make is that _nothing_ is the same, nothing will ever-"

"Stop," Gibbs growled, and he did.

"I was answering your question," he replied stiffly. Gibbs watched him intently for a moment. His anger seemed to have simmered down, for the time being. At least that was something to be grateful for.

"Are you running away, DiNozzo, or are you running to something?"

Tony narrowed his eyes at Gibbs, caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean?

"You're planning to leave with the Winchesters, aren't you?" It was barely a question. More of a statement.

"I don't want other people to have to go through what I... what _we_ did. Their lives suck, but they're doing something right. Something good. I mean, they're trying to save the world," he explained as best as he could.

"And you're not doing something good here?"

Tony paused. "I thought I was."

"You were. You _are_."

"Boss... the world's ending. Nothing we do here is going to mean anything if _everything_ goes up in flames. And I know you don't want to hear it, but if I want to get you out of your contract, Crowley has to die. I have to be able to kill him," he said softly.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a man who needed protecting, but he knew that he wouldn't actively try to break his contract with Crowley. Gibbs would be too worried that McGee might suffer the backlash if he did.

"Never asked you to save me, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"I know," he replied. "But I'm going to anyway."

Gibbs just shook his head, then asked, "How do you think they're gonna react to this?"

He didn't need to ask who 'they' were. "They'll be pissed, probably. Sometimes you've got to do things that hurt the people you care about in order to help them... I'm not just doing this for you. I'm doing this for them, too."

"The Winchesters can handle this."

"I can't enjoy a world that I know needs saving," he said, echoing what he'd been feeling the past few days. "I can't do business as usual anymore, boss. I can't. Not until this is over."

"And what's _over_ , DiNozzo? You in a body bag?" Gibbs inquired, his tone turning tense again.

"This is bigger than me," he stated heavily.

"It's bigger than all of us." Gibbs looked away for a moment, pursing his lips. "They say a man's only as great as what he's hunting."

"Hey, that's my line," Tony joked weakly.

"You really gonna hunt down the devil?"

The elevator doors dinged open, waiting for Tony to exit. "I suppose I am," he responded. Hunting the devil. _I always knew I was destined for great things_ , he thought sarcastically.

Tony walked out of the elevator. He didn't know whether Gibbs was going to follow him or not.

"Tony," Gibbs called out his name, and he turned.

"Yeah, boss?" Tony asked. Gibbs was holding the door so it wouldn't shut on him. He looked at Tony for a long moment with those crazy intense eyes of his that were a darker blue than they used to be, and for a split second, he'd say that Gibbs was sad to see him go.

"Come back in one piece," he said, just loud enough for Tony to hear. Then, he stepped back, and the doors slid back together, causing the older agent to disappear from view.

"I will, boss," he said, even though he knew no one could hear him. "I will."


	25. Epilogue: The Leaving Song

Tony waited on the stoop outside of his apartment for Dean and Sam, his bag over his shoulder. He saw a faint light as a car came trundling down the street. The Impala with its fixed headlight. Dean parked the classic car in front of Tony and leaned out the window.

"You ready?"

Tony nodded dimly. "Yeah."

He opened up the backseat door and clambered into the Impala, placing his duffel bag on the seat next to him. He shut the door, and couldn't help but think that he probably wouldn't ever see his apartment again. Probably wouldn't ever see DC again, either. He would try, though. He would do his best to stay alive. Because he told Gibbs that he would, and he was a lot of things, but he wasn't a man who would break his word if he could avoid it.

Dean pulled away from the curb. "We're heading over to Sioux Falls in South Dakota. Baby needs some body work, and I'm not letting some city mechanic touch her. Plus, we need to check on Bobby."

Another nod from Tony. "Alright."

Sam turned to look at him. "You okay, Tony?"

Tony shifted in his seat, trying to find an appropriate answer. "Yes and no. On one hand, I'm riding off into the sunset with two monster hunters who have Heaven and Hell on their asses. On the other hand... well, I'm riding off into the sunset with two monster hunters who have Heaven and Hell on their asses. Very exciting. Very terrifying." He snorted a little. "Very stupid."

"Stupid is our specialty," Dean told him before cranking up the radio. Heavy metal came blasting over the speakers.

"Uh, Dean-"

"Hunting Rule Number One," Dean yelled over the deep, resonating guitar and frantic drumming. "Driver picks the music, shotgun and backseat shut their respective cakeholes."

Sam made the motion of sticking a gun in his mouth, and in spite of himself, Tony laughed. As the song launched into its next verse, Dean began loudly singing along.

_"Not dead which eternal lie, stranger eons, Death may die..."_

He looked out the window as the DC scenery passed. He'd done a lot for this city over the past nine years. NCIS had changed his life, _saved_ his life, given him the family and the home that he'd spent the entirety of his life searching for. NCIS gave him meaning.

_"Drain you of your sanity, face the thing that should not be!"_

Now he had another meaning, and it was only because of who he'd found in this city that he was strong enough to undertake the burden he'd just volunteered for. Strong enough to possibly walk to his death in an attempt to save the world.

He would do it, too. Because he was Tony DiNozzo, and he was a wild card. And he would not accept the end of the world.

_**-FIN-** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who have read, I hope you enjoyed the story! Obviously, there's going to be a sequel to this relatively soon - it'll be called Disposable Heroes, so keep an eye out for it.


End file.
